


Crazy Ineffable Thing (Called Love)

by TawnyOwl95



Series: Disaster Dads [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (and British spelling), About Crowley's characters, Actor!Crowley, Adults are gulible, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternative universe-single parents, Angst, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale used to write smutty fanfiction, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Because parenting is hard, Because parenting is sooo hard, Bordering on crack(ish), But taken very seriously due to unexpected feelings, Completely self indulgent love letter to this fandom, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Good AUmens, I needed my Bastille fix somehow, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pining while fucking, Sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism, Writer!Aziraphale, You Have Been Warned, and very British (there will be lots of tea)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 64,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: “You’ve lost the children!”“We’ve lost the children.”“The children have been lost.”Pepper Galadriel Moonchild-Fell does not want to be sent to live with her distant, career driven mother.  Adam Crowley does not want to be shipped off to military school by his slightly satanic grandmother.They both think that their fathers should stop being idiots and fall in love already.No one is going to listen to a pair of eleven year olds though.  A plan is required.A plan that will throw their fathers together on a high-stakes rescue mission where they will be forced into dangerous, intimate proximity. They must rise to occasions, overcome bullshit and, oh my god, there will only be one bed to do it in!
Relationships: Adam & Pepper, Aziraphale & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Pepper, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Crowley & Pepper
Series: Disaster Dads [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059269
Comments: 1216
Kudos: 568
Collections: AJ’s personal faves, Good AUmens AU Fest, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Our Own Side, Top Crowley Library





	1. On a Collision Course

**Author's Note:**

> “Strength enough to build a home,  
> Time enough to hold a child,  
> Love enough to break a heart”  
> Terry Pratchett
> 
> I borrowed the premise and some of the plot beats from Lord Perfect by Loretta Chase so the Pepper/Adam characterisation is a bit off as they are channeling the children from that book too. They are more precocious and obnoxious than I would normally write them, I think. 
> 
> There are some sections of text in here that I’ve shamelessly lifted straight from my rather battered and dog eared 1990s copy of Good Omens. How many can you spot?
> 
> Thanks to the GO Events Discord server for all the support and brainstorming. 
> 
> Especially  
> [miss-minnelli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollyshipperalltheway/pseuds/miss-minnelli)  
> and  
> [jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl)  
> for betaing. 
> 
> and madeformydreams for initial feedback on pre-teen behaviour.
> 
> Also, and I hope this goes without saying, if your children do run away, please call the police. You don’t even have to wait 24 hours. I checked.
> 
> Chapter Title from Don’t Stop Me Now.

**Ineffable Publishing children’s short story writing awards**

**London**

**Friday 1** **st** **May**

Anthony J. Crowley lounged at the bar. His hair was long on top, shaved close to his scalp at the sides, and he was wearing the designer sunglasses that had been almost constantly in place since 2015. The hair suggested the filming of the second season of _Heist_ had wrapped and he’d been allowed to get rid of the Beatle cut he’d been sporting in 2019. The glasses indicated that he did not wish to be approached. He had been signing shirts and posing for selfies throughout the award ceremony. Poor thing was probably shattered. Nevertheless, and despite his very best intentions, Aziraphale kept returning to the bar so he could bask in all that long-limbed, effortless cool. 

It was indecent that someone could be allowed out in public looking that edible. Honestly, in _Return to Albion_ the man had managed to saunter while wearing a full suit of armour. Somewhere at the back of his brain, Aziraphale’s thirty year old self was alive and, quite frankly, in screaming fan boy hell. Fan boy. Honestly! He was almost fifty and couldn’t even manage a polite, _hello, I enjoy your work_. He couldn’t because he just knew that the conversations he was having with Anthony Crowley in his head were far superior to anything that could possibly come out of his mouth in reality. 

Aziraphale ordered yet another glass of below par red, which he had every intention of abandoning at one of the now empty tables at the earliest opportunity. He chatted with the barmaid, lovely girl but a bit full on, while he slaked his real thirst through subtle sideways peeks. Looking wasn’t a sin, after all.

He laughed at the barmaid’s risque story about her room mate and the traffic cone, and resolved that this glass of wine would be the absolute last.

Anthony Crowley turned his head and the full weight of those tinted lenses fixed Aziraphale to the spot. He forgot how to breathe.

The absent minded professor was back again. If it weren’t for the fact that he was clearly as gay as a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide, Crowley would have supposed he had a thing for the barmaid. By Crowley’s count the professor was on his fourth, soon to be misplaced glass of red, and the bar wasn’t cheap. It was an award ceremony for children and the assumption was that most people would either be not allowed to drink, or not so irresponsible that they would drink while in charge of minors. Crowley had been steadily nursing his first and only whiskey of the evening since most of the public had filtered off home.

Absent minded professor may not fancy the barmaid, but it appeared she didn’t know that. She was in full flirt mode while the professor, charmingly oblivious, smiled and tweaked his bow tie back into place. 

The bow tie was an interesting choice. As was the waistcoat. Were there braces under it? Sock garters beneath those perfectly pressed trousers? Not Crowley’s taste certainly, but he could appreciate when someone had perfected Their Look. Even if in this case the look was Dapper Victorian Time Traveller or a Particularly Kitsch Dr Who.

And how did someone get their hair that fluffy?

The most ridiculous, fussy, fluffy-haired irritant of a man. Then the professor laughed. Not the self-conscious, fluttery one he’d been using previously, but a proper full bellied chuckle that was more mischief than amusement.

Crowley turned his head. The smile slowly slid from the professor’s face. His eyes, so far as Crowley could tell from behind his shades, were hazel, maybe green at the edges. They were impossibly wide and fringed with dark lashes. They were the most expressive eyes he had ever seen and they looked terrified.

A scream shot through the near empty room.

Adam had been minding his own business. He thought the general aura of _keep away from me_ he’d been projecting all evening was loud and clear to anyone. Apparently not to this nosey girl who had plopped herself into the empty chair next to him, rested both elbows on the table, her head on her hands and declared: “You’re writing something. I can tell.”

“What if I am?” Adam didn’t look up. He _was_ writing something and did not appreciate his train of thought being derailed just as the pirates were about to fight the dragon.

“Are you sulking because you didn’t win tonight?” The girl asked.

“I am not sulking. I didn’t win tonight because I didn’t enter.”

“Too scared?”

Adam glanced up from his phone. The girl was his age, as suspected from the tone of her voice and lack of inhibitions. She had challenging brown eyes and a serious mouth. She clearly thought she was the cleverest person at this table, if not in the room. 

Adam was going to correct her on that point.

“I couldn’t enter because dad is signed with the publishing house to narrate some audio books. He’s an actor and very rich.” Adam added the last bit as he thought it might annoy her.

“Good for you.” The girl sniffed. “I’m Pepper.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“My dad’s a writer.”

“Again. I didn’t ask.” Adam put down his phone. Honestly, he’d completely lost his thread. The detective, who was also a knight, would never get there in time to save the pirates now.

“I didn’t enter tonight because he’s signed to Ineffable Publishing too.” Pepper rattled on. “I would have won something though. I’m a very good writer. What’s your book about?”

Adam resented both the interruption and her attitude, however he was also prey to the weakness of being asked about his current work in progress. “Well, if you must know…”

He launched into exposition, and was just explaining how the dragon was going to meet the space aliens when Pepper said: “Oh, I see.”

“What do you see?”

Pepper shook her head sympathetically. “You don’t know what your story is about at all.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve been telling you!”

“No, you’ve been telling me what happens. Not what it’s about. It should have a central premise or theme that can be condensed into one sentence. For example, a young girl wants to become a knight and has to overcome ingrained and outdated social stereotypes to do so.” She smiled at him like she actually thought she was being helpful.

“That sounds like a boring premise.”

“Well, it would to you. You’re a boy.” Pepper rolled her eyes. This was clearly the response that she’d expected from him.

It rankled.

“That’s sexist that is,” Adam said.

“No it’s not. You _are_ a boy and I dare say you can be a knight whenever you want to be.”

“No, it’s sexist saying I think your premise is boring because I’m a boy. I’d think it was boring if I were a girl too.”

“But you’re not a girl so you don’t know that.” Pepper’s voice was getting steadily louder.

Adam countered this with being calmer. It was a tactic that always infuriated his Gramma Lucille. “But I have an imagination. That’s what you need to be a writer so you can imagine yourself as all sorts of different people. So as a writer I can imagine what I’d think if I were a girl, and I bet I could imagine all sorts of things that are much better than some boring, old _premise_ conjured up by someone who thinks she’s so smart because her dad managed to get himself on the guest list for some children’s event. I bet his writing is boring too.”

Pepper grabbed the nearest half empty glass of red wine and threw the contents over Adam’s head.

Aziraphale blinked at the space where Anthony Crowley had just been. He was now moving fast around the empty tables towards the sound of an ear-splitting crash. 

An awfully familiar voice screamed: “ _You apologise right now you filthy, worsted-stocking knave!_ ”

Oh, good Lord!

Aziraphale set off after Crowley, getting up just enough speed so they arrived at the scene of the carnage more or less at the same time. Two pre-teen bodies thrashed about amidst overturned chairs and smashed glass. Inevitably, Aziraphale recognised the dark curly hair and the dress he’d buttoned up earlier that evening, now with a sizeable rip in the skirt. 

Crowley jumped back as a foot shot out towards his shin. He looked up at Aziraphale in embarrassed horror, clearly sharing the desire to wade in and grab his own dependent by the scruff of the neck but terrified of laying hands on the other fighter and risking a lawsuit.

The two children rolled into a table leg. Some of the remaining guests had their camera phones out.

Aziraphale clenched his fists and in a raised voice normally only reserved for the most difficult of customers said: “ _Pippin Galadriel Moonchild-Fell!_ ”

Pepper desisted from trying to throttle the blond cherub whose chest she was currently sitting on and glared up at Aziraphale. “He said your book was boring!”

“And he’s entitled to his opinion. Get up at once!”

Pepper shoved the boy back into the floor and stepped on his fingers as she got up. She did get up though, and had the decency to look contrite as she sidled up to Aziraphale.

Crowley hauled the blond cherub up by his collar. It was stained pink, as was one side of his fringe. 

“I’m terribly sorry…” Aziraphale found himself pinned by Crowley’s dark lenses again. He bit his lip. “Never should have introduced her to Shakespeare so early.”

“’Salright. I’m sure he deserved it.” Crowley gave the boy a light shake. “Did you? Deserve it, hellion?”

The boy mopped his damp fringe out of his face and gazed up at Crowley with guileless blue eyes. “Of course not. I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I? The gentleman just said so.”

Crowley barely managed to hide his smirk as he raised a questioning eyebrow in Aziraphale’s direction. 

Aziraphale’s own smile came dangerously close to breaking free. “He does have a point.”

“I still want an apology,” Crowley growled at the boy. “Entitled to your opinion or not, Adam, there’s no excuse for brawling.”

“Quite right.” Aziraphale put a hand on Pepper’s shoulder before she could sneak away. “You too, young lady.”

Pepper rolled her eyes but held out her hand. “Sorry, Adam.”

Adam huffed, but reached out. “Sorry.” The smirk on his face was quite similar to his father’s when he said: “Sorry. _Pippin Galadriel_ ….”

Pepper lunged. Aziraphale’s fingers closed on air as she barreled Adam back to the floor.

All four of them were eventually escorted politely from the premises.

They stood outside in the slight mizzle that was working its way over London. The angel with the beautiful eyes opened his umbrella and held it out. Really, those eyes were the most expressively glorious things Crowley had ever seen. And the A in A.Z Fell may as well stand for Angel as anything else. It was Adam’s talk of books that had helped Crowley connect the clues. A.Z Fell, just published the first book of _The Elder Souls_ Trilogy, rumours of film rights being bought up chasing each other round and round the industry already.

Angel motioned them closer with his hand. Crowley, still with Adam’s shoulder in a death grip, sidled them both underneath the umbrella. There was barely enough room for the two adults, even with their shoulders pressed together. 

They stood in silence while droplets splattered the pavement around them.

“That went down like a lead balloon,” Crowley muttered.

“Sorry?” Angel smiled nervously. He couldn’t keep an emotion under wraps if he tried.

“Can just imagine the headlines now…”

“Pre-teen prize fight packs a punch!” Pepper interrupted.

”Shakespearean slur steals show!” Adam responded.

They grinned at each other. They’d united to bribe, beg and bamboozle event security into not ejecting them and were now friends, despite the black eyes and split lips.

The amusement Crowley and Angel shared was slightly more subdued. They were the adults and were still trying to maintain an air of disapproval. Angel’s eyes near twinkled though.

When had eyes that twinkled become Crowley’s thing? Hardly part of his preferred aesthetic, was it?

“Oh, I think most of the journalists gave up at six o’clock.” Angel whispered. “You don’t really expect that kind of action at a children’s award ceremony, do you?”

“Not if you don’t know the antichrist here.” Crowley gave Adam a gentle shake. Adam jerked his shoulder out of the parental grip. As a result he had to move closer to Pepper, who had tucked herself under one side of Angel’s very Victorian looking coat. Angel had his arm around her, casual but protective. The easy intimacy between them made Crowley’s stomach knot with jealousy.

“Antichrist!” Angel looked faintly scandalised at Adam’s nickname.

Crowley shuffled his feet. It had been Adam’s maternal Gramma Lucille that first coined it and it had stuck. Generally he didn’t approve of anything Gramma Lucille or that side of the family had to do with Adam, but after the last few years he was grudgingly beginning to see the truth in it. Not that it was Adam’s fault. Kid had been through a lot, and _that_ was eighty percent Crowley’s fault.

“I know. I was watching him from the bar, ok?” Crowley was compelled to say. “I just don’t like to hover.”

Angel sighed. “I understand. Pepper wants her independence too, but it’s so hard to know whether you’re doing the right thing.”

“Or the wrong thing,” Crowley muttered. Although sometimes you did know and found yourself doing the wrong thing anyway. He took a deep breath and glared at the rain-grey buildings across the Thames.

Now they were squished together Adam and Pepper had begun to whisper. Crowley couldn’t help but think of Catholic conspirators discussing where they could get gunpowder at a decent price.

Crowley stuck a hand out into the mizzle which was now valiantly trying to become drizzle. “This isn’t going to stop. Might try for a cab.”

“Oh, good luck then…” Angel bit his lip again.

Crowley couldn’t blame him. It was a nice plump bottom lip. Ripe for biting.

Angel looked at Crowley expectantly, still worrying his lip and eyes at their full, dazzling power.

Crowley lifted a very pointed eyebrow. Surely he was joking?

“Crowley. Anthony Crowley.” Crowley left a suitably dramatic pause. “The actor.”

“Oh yes.” The angel’s eyes darted about while the almost involuntary smile lit them up. “I think I've heard of you," he told the pavement.

Crowley let his other eyebrow lift to join the first.

Angel gave him a quick sideways peek. “Well, I didn’t want to presume an introduction. It must be rather tiring being known all the time.”

He was considerate, and kind. And his daughter clearly adored him. So not Crowley’s type at all, really.

“And you are?” Crowley asked dryly.

“A.Z Fell.”

Bingo. Not a bad shout considering Crowley had only ever played a spy. “That’s quite a mouthful,” Crowley said.

A.Z Fell squirmed.

“His name’s Aziraphale,” Pepper said then whispered darkly to Adam, “You’d think after being punished like that as a child he’d have the common decency to call me _Sarah_!”

“Well, I was only half of the parenting collective,” Aziraphale said waspishly.

“The half that had read _Lord of the Rings_.” Pepper replied with an equal level of bitchiness.

Crowley grinned. Family dinners at that house would be an event. Not one he had any intention of attending though. Best retreat now while everyone was still in one piece.

“I’ll see you around then, Aziraphale.” He reasserted his grip on Adam and they ran out into the rain. Crowley intended that to be the end of it. Nice, alright, gorgeous eyes and biteable lips were trouble that he didn’t want right now. He had both hands full already. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting Schedule
> 
> Thank you for reading. This is all (mostly) written. I’m pretty confident up until the last few chapters, and although I know how it’s going to end it still needs some revisions. I’m hoping to post on Saturday, or Sunday evenings depending on which night I have most time. If I can organise myself I may get to post just after lunch instead. It’ll depend on how long lunch takes. There should be a chapter every week though, unless I’m really excited about a chapter in which case I might post it early on a week day. Alternatively, if I’m bogged down in real life/had too much wine I might be posting a chapter every fortnight. : )


	2. I Work Hard Every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes to Aziraphale with a proposition.   
> Aziraphale responds by being a hot mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Monday's suck. 
> 
> Title from Somebody to Love.

**Mayfair, London**

**Saturday 2** **nd** **May**

“Pepper’s dad teaches creative writing,” Adam said over spaghetti and meatballs the next night.

“Good for him.” More oregano in the sauce next time, Crowley thought, but he was getting better at cooking. Or maybe after four years’ worth of frozen meals and leftover take out Adam was prepared to eat anything.

Point was, he wasn’t thinking about angel eyes and bow ties. Not his type. Nope. His type was very much instant gratification and no strings. No time or energy for anything else, and he got the distinct feeling that A.Z Fell would need to be wooed.

He’d probably call it ‘wooing’ as well. With absolutely no irony.

Crowley ran his hands through his hair. He was tired of thinking about it. Tired of the endless tunnel of loneliness stretching out into the future and tired of feeling sorry for himself about it.

Adam pushed a particularly gnarly looking meatball round his bowl. His eyes fixed on Crowley from beneath his lashes.

Crowley picked up his fork. “And what makes you think I owe you any privileges after Friday night? You’re bloody lucky it wasn’t in the paper. How would we have explained that to your Gramma?”

Never mind what the headlines chose to say about his parenting abilities and life choices, he’d survived worse, but he and Adam had rubbed along now for four years. Crowley knew he was making progress and the last thing he wanted was an excuse for his mother-in-law to weigh in all heavy handed and mess things up.

Adam grinned at him across the table.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“You said bloody.”

“No I didn’t.” Crowley said. “Did I?”

Adam nodded cool as you please. Crowley resisted the urge to say something more creative. He got up from the table and retrieved his wallet from the kitchen counter and began to transfer coins into a half full jam jar labelled  _ Adam’s new bike _ .

“We agreed five pounds,” Adam said,

“Not for b….” Crowley caught himself just in time. “Yeah, nice try. You want five pounds? I’ll have to say something much worse.”

Adam’s smile was cherubic.

Crowley sat back down. He carried on stabbing pasta with his fork, but knew he was being watched.

“I said no.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Was going to say no before you distracted me.” Suspicion curled its way through Crowley like an accidental fire. “How do you know Pepper’s dad teaches creative writing?”

“She told me.”

“Obviously.”

“It’s not obvious. I could have googled him. I could have googled creative writing courses for children.”

“Did you?” Sarcasm crept into Crowley’s voice. Too late to stop it now, but he was aware so he could try harder next time.

Adam started to slouch. He folded his arms and kicked his toe against the table leg. “You told me I should make more friends. We’ve been messaging about our writing. And her dad’s book isn’t boring at all. It has a female gladiator in it, and a mad emperor and a boat chase down the Tiber!”

“It’s not a children’s book!” Firm but calm. That was good.

“Pepper has only told me about the good bits, not the boring adult bits where all people do is fall in love. And  _ kiss _ .” Adam’s slouch had smoothed out. He was alert and smiley.

Crowley was powerless. An Adam excited was hard to resist. Still, “You are on your last warning, you know that right?”

“And you know that wasn’t my fault!”

Crowley ran his hands through his hair. He’d just clawed his way back to reasonable dad and happy son and now this. “You broke the rules.” Stay firm. Stay calm.

“It was a stupid rule!”

And Crowley couldn’t disagree with that. Another boy, Warlock, had got into trouble for wearing one of the girls’ only uniform skirts to school. Adam had come home with bruises from taking his side against the bullies, and burning ears from standing up to the teachers. That all could have been settled with another detention, except Adam had turned up to said detention wearing one of the girls’ only uniform skirts. Gramma had been apoplectic. Crowley had been proud enough to burst. It was a stupid rule.

Still, it was the sort of expensive private school steeped in years of tradition that did not stand for that sort of creative insubordination. They only encouraged boys to wear skirts for particular board approved traditions incorporated into the sixth form initiation ceremony.

It hadn’t helped that Adam had single handedly, as he insisted, blown up the science lab the term before, and the term before that had sent the Religious Studies teacher on sick leave by,  _ only asking questions, dad, they should have done a better job writing the Bible if they didn’t want us to ask questions! _

Crowley hadn’t been able to argue that one either.

He stopped vandalising his own hair and tried to look like he had any authority whatsoever as he said, “If I talk to Mr Fell you are absolutely on your best behaviour. No more trouble at school and no more running away until we’ve sorted out skirt-gate at the discipline review board after half-term.”

Adam grinned. “Skirt-gate. Very good, dad.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me, kid.” Crowley knew he was fast approaching the end of his tether. At least it was only two hours until bedtime.

Adam’s grin widened.

Aw, shit!

“Yeah, alright.” Crowley dropped his plate in the sink and counted five pounds into the jam jar.

**Soho, London**

**Monday 4** **th** **May**

If Aziraphale had been paying more attention to laundry and less to replaying Friday night’s conversation with Crowley, the bra wouldn’t have been such a shock. He had been divorced for nearly ten years and was now content enough in his own skin to openly identify as quite definitely gay. That didn’t mean he couldn’t recognise a bra when he saw one. Not that this was much of a bra, to be sure, but it was more bra than vest and somebody really should have thought to warn him.

Aziraphale looked at the innocuously blue cotton and for probably the six thousandth time that morning, realised he had no idea what he was doing.

He could phone Effie, except that his ex-wife was about as hard to get hold of as an original copy of  _ Lady Windermere’s Fan _ . He knew as he periodically tried to do both. They used to speak about everything, but now Effie was so busy she’d recently made the case that Pepper would probably be much better off living with her now through very gentle but firmly worded memos on government headed paper. In light of recent discoveries Aziraphale was starting to think she was right.

Still, staring at the offending undergarment wasn’t going to stop time. He flung it in the washing machine and hoped it would survive a forty degree cycle like everything else seemed to.

Pepper stormed out of her bedroom, earbuds in and school tie done up in a ridiculously oversized knot. Aziraphale’s fingers itched to re-tie it in a more respectable full Windsor. He was, however, beginning to realise that the sort of affectionate fussing he’d always taken for granted would start to become a bother to her.

She’d put a bra in the laundry. Oh, God was she wearing one now? How long had this been going on? And did this mean that she didn’t feel comfortable talking to him about these things?

Pepper stole his last slice of toast, kissed his cheek and was out of the house yelling something about an early morning study group and she’d get the bus and she loved him, bye.

“Please don’t slam…!” he called.

The thundering on the stairs stopped.

The bookshop door slammed so hard the bell cried out in protest. The slightly broken blind over the door’s window clattered as it unfurled itself.

Aziraphale sighed, made another cup of tea and opened the bookshop, re fixing the blind and checking the door hinges as he did so. It was an old building and, rather like himself, was starting to buckle under the strain of sharing space with a constantly growing eleven year old. He couldn’t stop thinking about his daughter’s underwear and all the many and concerning future implications of what that might mean. 

He phoned the number on the bottom of the most recent memo from Effie.

He went through several switchboards and a few re-directions before a clipped voice said, “Well?”

“Ah, Matt. Good morning, it’s Aziraphale.”

“What do you want?” The voice was bored.

“To talk to Effie about these letters.”

“She’s busy.” Matt had already turned back to his computer screen. His voice was distracted and keyboard tapping filtered down the phone line.

“Look, I know the press have been giving her a hard time about her image at the moment, but we really need to talk about whether this is fair on Pepper.”

“You can talk to me.”

“And while I’m sure you do an absolutely sterling job answering phones and whatnot, this is about our daughter and not what the Prime Minister needs to know about business rates, which let me tell you, are becoming…”

“She’s busy. Did you forget it was the climate change round table today?” Matt sighed.

“Ah…”

“I thought you had, Try again after lunch.”

“Well, yes. If you could tell her I want to speak with her. I mean are we talking a formal revision to the original residency arrangements or more of a gentleman’s agreement…and oh, you’ve gone. Right.”

Aziraphale put down the phone.

His hands shook. Nothing for it, he’d have to kill off a character in book three. Messily. Lots of stabbing or a particularly unpleasant poison, perhaps? Even if the publishers disagreed it would be gloriously effective therapy to write. First though, more tea. Maybe some more mooning over red haired actors and what might have happened if he’d been slightly more eloquent and less in need of getting home to apply antiseptic cream to bruised knuckles.

Aziraphale let his mind wander pleasantly through the solitary hiss of the kettle boiling. Pepper was the single best thing he’d done with his life, but she wasn’t quiet and he liked quiet.

The shop bell rang.

“We are most certainly closed,” Aziraphale decided. He bustled back into the shop prepared for battle.

“Not what the sign says.”

Aziraphale’s heart did an excited backflip into his throat and then stopped beating altogether.

Crowley stood in the middle of the faded rug taking up more space than his svelte frame really needed. He was the polar opposite to the comfortable chaos Aziraphale surrounded himself with. All sharp, well-tailored lines in black, all flash.

Aziraphale felt positively dowdy. Still, he would not be intimidated just because he’d had to lean on the shop’s counter to keep himself steady. He was not going to gush about Anthony Crowley being in his shop even if he was wearing women’s skinny jeans and a predatory snake of a smirk.

“We are about to close for lunch,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“It’s 9.30 in the morning.” Crowley removed his baseball cap which had done very little to disguise him and absolutely everything to scream  _ Look, here is a famous person wearing a baseball cap! _

Crowley ruffled his hair back in order. “I’m not going to try and buy any of your books if that’s what you’re worried about. Don’t read books.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

Crowley bared his teeth as his smirk grew. “Adam says you teach creative writing.”

“A class on Tuesday evenings at the Adult Education Centre,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Ah. He seemed to think that you could teach him.”

“I could, I suppose…but probably not with Mrs Bletchingly and her lot. Plus you dropping him off would be terribly disruptive. I fear there’d be swooning.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. It was a sharp eyebrow, and Aziraphale was starting to believe that it could cut.

Aziraphale swallowed. He was in very real danger of swooning himself. “I think they would be able to see through your cunning disguise. They’re old, not blind.” He gestured at the baseball cap dangling from Crowley’s long fingers. “Do you even like West Ham United?”

Crowley glanced at the cap. “Dunno. Just bought the thing.”

“Surely, there are other teachers more qualified than me?” Aziraphale said, and then immediately wished he could strangle himself. Teaching Adam would mean more Crowley. However, more Crowley would also lead to embarrassment (his) and possible heartache (also his). Aziraphale decided to strangle his newly forming fantasies instead. That’s what they were: fantasies based around certain, soul consuming crushes on characters this man had inhabited for brief moments in time. They really had absolutely nothing to do with the actual, very real person standing in front of him at all. The person now swaggering towards him and dropping an elbow on to the counter top, long limbs rearranging themselves closer to sprawl than standing.

Aziraphale held his ground, both on principle, and because he currently needed his own grip on the counter in order to stay vertical. Crowley’s cologne was doing awkward, but not unpleasant things to his nerves.

“Adam wants you to teach him.” Crowley tilted down his glasses and peered at Aziraphale over the top. “He likes your book. The gladiators especially.”

The praise warmed Aziraphale down to his toes. It was suddenly very warm in the shop generally. Still, “Not that I want to judge your parenting choices, but there are some sections that really aren’t for children.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Crowley twisted so both elbows were on the counter and he was facing Aziraphale, chin resting on his hands.

Aziraphale’s heart started beating again with all the suaveness of a tin kettle bouncing down a staircase. “Well…”

Crowley smiled. “I’m teasing. Apparently your daughter told him about it. Not that I want to judge  _ your parenting choices _ .”

Anthony Crowley was rather obnoxious. Ironically that was a trait Aziraphale had always found attractive in his characters, but it had only been charming when he hadn't had to deal with it directly. 

“One of the characters is Pepper’s age. I talk to her about some of it. Not the oysters obviously…”

“What do your characters do to oysters?” Both eyebrows lifted this time. The arrogant curl to Crowley’s lips was simultaneously kissable and punchable.

“Nothing that couldn’t be done in public, I assure you,” Aziraphale said. “It’s all sub-text.”

“Sub-text?”

The way Crowley said that, caressing each letter as he drew them out left Aziraphale rather wobbly. All his Armand St Just in the Bastille fever-dreams of the late 90s hit him in the diaphragm. He may have squeaked.

“You’ll do it then?” Crowley asked.

_ Which one? _ Aziraphale wondered,  _ the one with the chains or the one with the crepe toppings? _

He really shouldn't have logged on to his AO3 account again last night. He really, really should have deleted it months ago.

Crowley had not had a terribly prominent role as Armand St. Just in the  _ Scarlet Pimpernel _ remake, but when he had been on the screen Aziraphale hadn’t been able to look at anything else. It had been an awakening. He’d been besotted.

He needed to get a grip on himself.

Figuratively speaking.

Aziraphale made himself forget about inappropriate rescue fantasies and consider the very pressing need he’d have for an expensive family lawyer soon. “If Adam’s happy to come here on say, late Sunday afternoons I could schedule in an hour.”

Crowley pushed himself off the counter. “We can do that. How much?”

“How much?”

“For the lessons.” Crowley almost smiled.

Aziraphale thought of the most extortionate price he could and then doubled it.

Crowley didn’t blink. “Sunday then. Four o’clock.”

“Perfect.”

The bell rang as Crowley left. Aziraphale leaned forward over the counter. It would be a simple business arrangement. There was no reason for Crowley to ever know anything else. Still, Aziraphale let out a breath in a way that sounded remarkably like,  _ ohgoodlordanthonycrowleywasinmyshopeek. _

__

__

**Mayfair, London**

**Monday 4th May**

Adam liked people. He liked observing them and trying to help them. Consequently they did not like him. They tended to take offence when he offered them carefully logical reasons as to why they had made a mess of things and what steps could be taken to do better next time.

Pepper was different. Adam was quite self-aware and could acknowledge that this was probably because she was as thick-skinned and opinionated as he was. When her name flashed up on his phone he was, not quite excited as such, but interested. She was interesting, and she made the world a much more interesting place.

“It worked!” Pepper whispered as soon as he’d accepted the call.

“I still don’t think we should mess with them like this.” Playing devil’s advocate with Pepper was fun.

He could hear Pepper’s exasperated eye-roll. “We aren’t messing with them. You need creative writing lessons…”

“I don’t  _ need _ them.”

“Fine, what’s your book about?”

“It’s a secret. You’ll only try and steal my  _ premise _ if I tell you what it is.”

Another noisy eye-roll. “We aren’t messing. We aren’t forcing them to fall in love, we are providing them opportunities to see if they’d like to fall in love. They have a choice.”

“Like an experiment.” Adam wasn’t entirely sure his dad could fall in love. He thought his dad wanted to, but it was hard to tell with all the obstacles he kept putting in the way of himself. Not everyone was like mum, which was the thing he needed to realise. Love wasn’t something that could be withdrawn just because someone disagreed with you. 

Funny that his dad had actually been the one to teach Adam that. Adam, cursed with self-awareness as he was, knew that he could be an absolute menace when he wanted to be. His dad was the only one who had never shunted him off onto someone else when that happened. Not since he’d got better after mum’s death, anyway.

“If it’s an experiment we’ll need the right environment,” Adam said.

Pepper, of course, had Ideas. They were good and interesting Ideas and Adam told her so, then added a few of his own. “Thing is,” he said. “We mustn’t rush it. They’ll get suspicious.”

“You’re right. My dad looks like a marshmallow but he’s not that soft inside.”

Adam snorted. “I like your dad.”

“Yeah?”

She did too. It poured out of her voice in waves.

“Sure. I wouldn’t be sacrificing my Sunday afternoons if I didn’t want to spend time with him.”

“Hah! So you admit you need lessons from my dad.”

“I never said that!”

They argued happily for half an hour until Adam’s dad was forced to bang on the door and yell that dinner was ready. It was risotto with only minimal burned bits where it had been scraped off the bottom of the saucepan. Adam voiced his disappointment as the burned bits had the most flavour.

It didn’t make his dad swear, but smile-sneer in a way that was almost affectionate. It made Adam think that he and Pepper were most definitely on to something.


	3. I Just Can't Handle It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase one of Plan Parent Trap: Interrogation and dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Crazy Little Thing Called Love
> 
> Shout out to [Saretton](http://https://archiveofourown.org/users/saretton/pseuds/saretton/) who accidentally gave me the ‘emotionally devastating smut’ line. It was so much better than what I’d written originally

**Soho, London**

**Sunday 24** **th** **May**

Sunday afternoons were fun. Or make the angel blush days, as Crowley was privately coming to think of them. There’d only been two so far and he was looking forward to number three more than he cared to admit.

“Can I stay a bit later today? Pepper and I want to hang out.” Adam asked it almost too casually.

“And Mr Fell is ok with this?” Crowley tried to keep suspicion levels to a minimum.

“He has a first name.”

As usual the London traffic meant that it probably would have been quicker to get to Soho walking. It did mean that while they were stopped at a light, Crowley could tip down his glasses and give Adam the full weight of the parental gaze. “And he’s happy for you to use it?”

Adam nodded.

“Alright then.” Only problem was that this also meant Crowley could use it and since their first meeting he’d decided he rather liked the way it felt in his mouth. Like a whisper. A lover’s secret.  _ Aziraphale _ .

If forced to actually say it to the man himself it’d probably come out as a croon.

And he’d started reading his book. That hadn’t helped. There were some bits in it that really weren’t suitable for children. Knowing the buttoned up, bow tied bookseller could be capable of such emotionally devastating smut had nearly given Crowley a heart attack. And that was even before the bit with the oysters.

He was a chapter away from phoning up his agent and saying, ‘ _ These rumours about film rights on the  _ Elder Souls Trilogy _ … _ ’ closely followed by a large amount of begging that would do nothing for his image.

Crowley pulled the Bentley up to the kerb and opened his door.

“It’s three feet,” Adam said. “You can see me walk all the way in.”

“Going to say hi. Rude not to say hi.”

“You want to check I wasn’t lying about hanging out?” Adam pouted angrily. It was a skill Crowley could acknowledge while still hating how it made him feel. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He couldn’t say,  _ no, I wanted to tease Aziraphale about oysters to see him blush  _ so went with, “Do I need to?”

“No.” Adam held Crowley’s gaze. It was almost earnest.

“Then I’m just going to go in and say hi.” Crowley got out of the car.

Adam sighed, but accepted his fate with moderate grace. He didn’t slam the car door at least. 

On his first visit Crowley had found the bookshop overwhelming and his desire to straighten spines and move objects into more logical order was nearly painful. How anyone could exist amidst such cluttered madness eluded him. Aziraphale would call himself a collector. Crowley would have gone with hoarder in need of an intervention. The space was more familiar now, and less shocking. He could appreciate the novelty of surviving something so far outside of his comfort zone and, given time, he supposed he would be able to think of it as cosy.

Not that he needed to. Wasn’t going to spend any more time here than he had to, obviously.

Pepper was curled up on the sofa in the shop’s backroom with  _ The Blue Castle _ on her lap. “Hey, Adam. Dad’s just upstairs. He said if Adam’s staying for dinner then you should too, Mr Crowley.”

She spoke lightly, as though it were nothing at all, but Crowley was a good actor and he could spot when someone was trying too hard. Plus, Pepper looked straight at Adam.

“It’s lasagne,” she added.

“Lasagne?” Crowley turned to his son. Adam met his eyes defiantly, but he wet his lips nervously then glanced back at Pepper.

Cute. Someone had a crush.

“Sure,” said Crowley. “I’ve said Adam can stay if he wants.”

“He’s inviting both of us,” Adam said. “I didn’t know you had plans.”

“I don’t have plans. You know, except for enjoying having the TV to myself for a bit.”

Teasing a blush out of the angel in passing was not in the same arena as a sustained conversation over dinner with Adam present. Kid was too observant for his own good sometimes. 

The stairs creaked and Aziraphale rounded the corner of a shelf cleaning his glasses on a handkerchief. When he popped the glasses back on his nose Crowley’s stomach flipped. He could imagine the concentration on Aziraphale’s face as he wrote, peering at the screen with total focus as words came alive beneath his fingers.

_ Use those fingers on me, angel. What’s my story? _

Crowley shifted his weight on to his other leg and folded his arms. When had bloody half-moon spectacles become a thing for him?

“Right on time.” Aziraphale smiled at Adam.

“Mr Crowley can’t stay for dinner,” Pepper accused.

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s smile dropped away as he looked at Crowley. “Oh! Well, I’m sure he’s busy and we didn’t give him much notice at all, did we? Perfectly understandable. Never mind.”

If anything, he sounded relieved. Why was Aziraphale relieved? Since their first meeting he’d never given any indication that he knew anything about Crowley’s work, or approved or disapproved of it in any way. It was refreshing, but also annoying.

Crowley wanted Aziraphale to approve of him. 

“Nothing that I can’t cancel,” Crowley found himself saying. “I could stay. Will there be  _ oysters _ ?”

“Lasagne, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale’s smile darted across his face and then hid. The blush followed. Rose pink edged its way over his cheek bones. Adorable.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll manage.” Crowley’s throat was dry.

Oh, shit. Someone definitely had a crush.

Within fifteen minutes of Adam’s first lesson Aziraphale deduced that he was less in need of creative writing classes than a space in which to be left alone to express himself. In addition it provided an opportunity for Crowley to visit a nearby coffee shop and surf the Internet or stare at the wall in the bookshop while his brain was allowed off line for an hour. Aziraphale could sympathise.

Aziraphale told Adam all about the importance of first drafts being self-indulgent, messy and for his eyes only, and asked if he had any questions.

There were a lot of questions. 

Now, they huddled together over the dining room table in the bookshop’s flat, a rather nice copy of  _ The Jungle Book _ between them. Aziraphale had sent Adam home with it the previous week with instructions about reading  _ Riki Tiki Tavi. _

“Seems to me,” Adam said thoughtfully, “that the snake had as much right to be in the garden as anyone.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale knew when he was being set a challenge. Adam was only slightly less aggressive at this than Pepper was.

“She only wanted to protect her eggs,” Adam added. “I mean, her and her husband could have gone about it differently, but they had good reasons. Seems to  _ me _ they only aren’t allowed in the garden because the humans have decided it’s theirs. I don’t think it’s right that this Kipling bloke makes you think they’re the bad guys.”

“Do you think the snakes consider themselves the bad guys?” Aziraphale sat back in his chair and waited.

“Of course not.” Adam nibbled at his thumb nail. “I need to give my Robot King some eggs, don’t I?”

“Or something very like, I think,” Aziraphale conceded.

Adam’s bottom lip protruded as he went back to hammering away at the keys of his laptop. Aziraphale went back to worrying about dinner. Well, not the actual dinner. Now that the lasagne was constructed that would take care of itself. No, this had to do with Crowley. It was one thing having him in the shop and quite another to have him taking up space at the dining room table with its dusty lace cloth and barely room between the back of the chairs and the wall on one side. He should have tidied up more, but he’d honestly thought (hoped? feared?) that Crowley would have had something better to do with his Sunday night.

“You don’t need to worry.” Adam’s furious tapping paused. 

Aziraphale glanced up. 

“My dad’s cooking is…” Adam glanced briefly at the ceiling while truth and loyalty wrestled with each other, “…he’s not the best cook. Whatever you serve up will be good.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me. And your honesty.” Aziraphale smiled.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Most people tell me to mind my own business.” Adam narrowed his eyes. “Why are you teaching me?”

“You’re father asked me to.” It was rather like being interrogated by a particularly angelic inquisitor. For all his attitude and spikiness, Adam was a kind, intelligent young man. He looked like a Michelangelo who had just come to life and was trying to make sense of the world.

“And he’s paying you. Is that the reason?” Adam persisted.

Anyone with half a brain cell would realise that lying to Adam was a useless endeavour. Aziraphale liked to think he had rather more than half a brain cell, at least when it came to negotiating conversations with eleven year olds. “Partly. The extra income will be useful, but I also enjoy our time together. It’s nice to be able to share the things one loves with someone who feels the same.”

Adam nodded. “So would you do it if my dad wasn’t paying you?”

Aziraphale took off his glasses. “Well, I don’t know, dear boy. That would depend on why the arrangement changed and whether or not you still wanted to continue.”

“Huh. You know what?” Adam glanced at the ceiling then back at his screen, “I think eggs are perfect actually, big alien eggs covered with space dust and astral jelly.”

Well, that was certainly an image that was going to stay with Aziraphale through dinner. He replaced his glasses and went back to his own laptop to kill characters in book three. Or finally delete his AO3 account. The tab for the open page watched him reproachfully from the menu bar. He opened it up and looked at his list of works. Never had finished that  _ Albion _ AU. He should really delete it.

It was just that sometimes he still got comments from people who said they’d read something, and that it had meant a lot to them. It was part of his life he wasn’t sure he could let go of just yet.

“Thank you for  _ your _ honesty.” Adam said suddenly, with all the weighty seriousness an eleven year old could muster. “And for, you know, listening.”

Aziraphale hastily closed the AO3 page. “You’re welcome.” He smiled at Adam.

Adam smiled back.

They both studiously went back to work.

“He’s charging you too much, you know?”

Crowley glanced up from his phone screen. An hour to himself every week and he messed about playing Animal Crossing Pocket Camp. Too exhausted to do anything else really.

Pepper had returned to the back room and watched him like a mama bear standing guard over her cub. “He is taking advantage of you,” she added in case Crowley hadn’t got the point the first time. “FInancially.” 

Crowley put aside his phone. “Your father is only taking advantage of me if I don’t wish to pay that much.”

The tension in Pepper’s posture ebbed a bit. “You think he’s worth it then?”

“For Adam. Yes.” Crowley folded his arms.

Pepper narrowed her eyes.

The silence dragged.

Eventually, Pepper decided Crowley’s answer was satisfactory. She deigned to sit on the sofa next to him. Crowley realised he had been holding his breath. There was something incredibly pointed about the way she looked at him with her eyes serious and her mouth pursed in consideration.

Crowley straightened his spine, as much as he could.

“So,” Pepper said. “My dad likes Oscar Wilde.”

“Does he?” Crowley squinted behind his glasses as he tried to work out where this was heading and what traps might lie in wait.

“What do you think of Oscar Wilde?”

_ Dunno. Never met him,  _ lurked on the tip of Crowley’s tongue. He nearly let the words out, but he had seen Pepper’s eye roll before and, despite being a grown man of nearly fifty he couldn’t stand the thought of being the sole focus of that much derision.

Crowley clamped his mouth shut. Then asked as seriously as he could, “His plays or the man himself?”

Pepper arched an eyebrow.

Crowley was up to the challenge. He lifted his own in return while Pepper considered.

“Plays,” she decided. “To start with.”

“Right, and when I’m done will you tell me what you think?”

Pepper’s second eyebrow lifted as well. “Will you listen?”

“Wouldn’t dare not to,” Crowley said. That earned him a smile, which was quite possibly as glorious as getting one from her father.


	4. Knock Me Down for a Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase one of Plan Parent Trap: Interrogation and dinner (Part 2: dinner)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Body Language
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading and commenting on this fic. The response has been amazing.

**Soho, London**

**Sunday 24th May**

Dinner wasn't the catastrophic embarrassment Aziraphale feared. When Crowley had his legs tucked under the table he didn't take up nearly as much space either physically or in Aziraphale's head.

The lasagne was a success. The bottle of Chianti Aziraphale opened for the adults even more so. The more he drank the softer the edges of his nerves became until he could appreciate how Adam and Crowley needled each other, while both still being hopelessly besotted. Pepper was particularly well mannered even as she grilled Crowley mercilessly on subjects as varied as Shakespeare (How can you not like _Hamlet?_ ) to his musical tastes (Aziraphale was not entirely sure he wanted her listening to a Velvet Underground.) Crowley bore it all with good humour and didn't patronise her once which meant Aziraphale made it to clearing the dishes without having to raise his voice at either of them. It was all rather pleasant.

"You need some help?" 

Crowley sprawled, if you could sprawl vertically, in the kitchen doorway with his wine glass dangling from one hand. Caught scraping leftovers into the bin, Aziraphale had a rather good view of thigh hugging denim and an almost concave stomach under a too-tight t-shirt as he straightened up. 

Honestly, Aziraphale told himself firmly, the man was nothing but a spindly stick insect. All limbs and joints. He walked like a baby giraffe. He was entirely gorgeous. Ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous.

Aziraphale cleared his throat as he placed the last plate on the kitchen counter.

“I was just tidying up. Dare I ask where the children are?” He sounded perfectly calm, he was sure of it.

“Pepper’s room. I take it, that's ok?”

Aziraphale nodded. His panic over the bra and its undeniable place as a marker in the onslaught of puberty was one thing, but generally he trusted Pepper enough to negotiate her own rules over who was allowed in her bedroom. 

“They’re listening to music. The door’s open.”

Now that Crowley mentioned it there was a distinct strum of guitars permeating the flat.

“Well, that’s alright then.” Aziraphale looked reproachfully at the dishes stacked neatly by the sink. He picked up the open bottle of wine. “We could take this downstairs?”

Crowley stepped back from the door and gestured for Aziraphale to lead on. Aziraphale clutched his own glass and the bottle to his chest and tried not to be aware of how close he was to Crowley as he sidled back into the dining room, or the soft tread of Crowley’s feet as he followed Aziraphale to the stairs. The flat really was too small for a presence that big. 

The book shop was roomier and had a discernible presence of its own and as soon as Aziraphale was settled comfortably in his desk chair everything seemed much more manageable. That was until Crowley spread himself over the tatty old sofa opposite. There was a rightness to it, like a replayed pattern marking a fixed point in chaos. They drank and talked, and it was like slotting into a familiar but previously unseen groove.

Aziraphale handed Crowley the bottle and watched him frown in concentration as he poured the last of the wine into his glass.

“I’ve another bottle upstairs,” Aziraphale offered. “You don’t need to get off, do you?”

Crowley looked up, his eyebrow of doom quirked ominously. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Aziraphale replayed his words. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Although now that he thought about it...oh dear.

Crowley’s grin was sharp. “We can stay a bit longer. Adam’s bed time’s not until nine. Although mine won’t be much after that.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Aziraphale got up in an effort to hide the blush burning his ears. “I’ll just…”

He took five minutes in the kitchen to give himself a very firm talking to, checked in on the children and returned to the bookshop feeling slightly more composed.

Crowley had abandoned his wine glass to stand by Aziraphale’s desk. He was thumbing through an old paperback with a misty grey cover. Aziraphale’s stomach did an odd little pirouette. At least it was the one with the misty grey cover, and not the more lurid one a few spines away which he and some online friends had clubbed together to print after the _Return to Albion_ Big Bang of 2002.

Considering how mortifying that would have been Aziraphale decided he could cope with a conversation about _Hell and Holy Water_.

“You don’t mind?” Crowley looked up. “Not seen another one of these for years and don’t think E. Worthing ever wrote anything else.”

“Have you read it?” Aziraphale dared to hope and then fervently wished Crowley would say no. 

“When Adam’s mum died.” The muscles in Crowley’s throat jumped as he swallowed.

Aziraphale remembered the headlines. Terrible car crash. She’d been drinking. Paparazzi had been involved. He tried to form a sentence that wouldn’t sound trite.

Crowley swallowed again. “Have you…? Of course you have. It’s on your desk. Sorry, silly question. It was one of those stories that stays with you that was all. Never been left so simultaneously hopeful and devastated by a love story in my life.”

“You think it’s a love story?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded far away. He was underwater and losing sight of the sun.

“You _don’t_ think it’s a love story?”

Aziraphale knew it was a love story. It was the one that he’d written for his younger self. This was unstable ground and Aziraphale backed away. “I didn’t think you read books.”

“This isn’t books. This is a book. One.” Crowley’s lip curled. It could have been a sneer if his face wasn’t so relaxed. Adam had the same unfiltered lightness to him when he spoke of pirates.

“That’s splitting hairs very fine.” Aziraphale carefully took his copy of _Hell and Holy Water_ from Crowley’s hands. Despite his best efforts their fingers brushed. Crowley was just that little bit taller. Aziraphale wouldn’t have to go up on his toes to kiss him, but it would make the whole endeavour easier.

He was not going to kiss Crowley.

He reminded himself it wasn’t really Crowley he wanted to kiss.

“There was that line about love not being finite,” Crowley said. “How love breeds love and you can always choose it, the difficulty is finding the courage to do so.”

“Yes, I remember that bit.” The evening had taken a turn for the surreal. Having Anthony Crowley in his shop quoting his own words back to him was quite possibly the most erotic thing Aziraphale had ever experienced. All his good intentions began to crumble. He stepped back.

“You liked it then?” Crowley retrieved his wine glass, fully breaking whatever it was that had been twisting them together.

Loved it. Hated it. Each word had been an absolute bloody torture to get down, each one a triumph dragged out of him at three in the morning with a six month old Pepper curled up on his chest. “I have quite a soft spot for it, yes.” Aziraphale slipped the book back into the gap on his shelf and picked up the wine bottle. “Shall we, then?”

It was eight-thirty by the time Aziraphale realised that they’d possibly had too much to drink for being in charge of minors, or themselves, come to that. Tipsy Crowley was a whole new experience though. Aziraphale watched fascinated as the carefully cool exterior unwound into an adorably dorky man who was just as ship-wrecked on the parenting sea as Aziraphale.

“Nothing against single mums.” Crowley gesticulated with his near empty wine glass. “Work bloody hard, tough job, all I’m saying is why do they need their own coffee mornings? Why can’t I go too? I’d like to bitch about school runs and picky eating with some like minded individuals as well, you know?”

“Shouldn’t think they’d mind!” Aziraphale had his own glass clutched securely to his chest. “You’re Anthony J. Crowley. They’d welcome you with…open whatsits…limbs...arms!” he finished as Crowley cackled.

“They’d all want bloody selfies.” Crowley said, “And autographs.” He fixed Aziraphale with a slightly glazed stare, his glasses having been abandoned on the desk some time ago. “You never asked for an autograph.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips while simultaneously trying to look at them in case that would make them work better.

“Not a fan?” Crowley asked leaning back slightly, head tilted. “Doesn’t matter. Can’t please everyone.”

“I think you’re very…”Aziraphale paused and carefully examined every single shifting word that was bobbing about in his mind. In his mental dashboard he scrolled through, _lovely_ , _handsome, soul crushingly attractive, a totally obnoxious twat,_ and settled on _:_ “Good with Pepper.”

Crowley took the u-turn in the conversation in his stride. “She’s smart. Just wants to be heard that’s all.”

“If she didn’t shout so much and slowed down a touch I might be able to listen more. I try but she’s practically a young woman now. Crowley, what do I know about young women?”

“Nonono. Don’t panic about labels. She’s still Pepper first and foremost.”

Aziraphale nodded. That made sense. He needed to remember that and then work on believing it when he was less tipsy. “Well, Adam is charming.”

“He’s a little shit,” Crowley growled.

Aziraphale sat back in his chair, startled.

“Oh don’t look like that. He’s amazing, but he’s also far cleverer than I am, and…he likes you.” Crowley uncurled a finger from around his wine glass and pointed it at Aziraphale. “Wait! I had a thought. Just lemme…”

“Have more wine.” Aziraphale got up and managed to refill Crowley’s gently undulating glass without getting too much on the carpet. “Whoops.” He sat down on the sofa. His chair was really too far away now. He was sitting next to Anthony Crowley. His thirty year old self would be delighted. He giggled.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“This was a mistake,” Aziraphale said. Then at Crowley’s slightly worried expression. “Not this!” Aziraphale gestured between them. “This.” He held up the half empty bottle. “Bad idea. Still, half term tomorrow so at least it’s not a school night.”

“We should join forces.” Crowley said. “That was the thought I had. Just now.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale sat up straighter, turning his head.

“Parenting forces.” Crowley said confidently. “Us.”

Crowley really was quite close. One of his arms was slung along the back of the sofa and he faced towards Aziraphale. Close enough that Aziraphale could smell the slightly woodsy scent of his cologne. Pine, perhaps, something earthy and fresh. The impulse to bury his nose in the crook of Crowley’s neck was nearly overwhelming. 

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re suggesting, dear boy,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shook his head. “Neither am I. But Adam does like you. And that’s a very rare thing.”

“Well, I like him!” Yes, talking about Adam was safe. Aziraphale could do that.

Crowley blinked slowly. “And what about his dad?”

“What about his dad?” Aziraphale frowned.

“Do you like him?”

Aziraphale blinked back at Crowley while he processed the familiar stab of dread that whispered, _are you sure you’re reading this right? Are you sure he likes you?_

“Me,” Crowley sounded exasperated. “Do you like me, angel?”

_Angel?_ Aziraphale’s brain checked out. It didn’t even stop to remind him that he was very far from angelic and not at all in love with Anthony Crowley. He was in love, or in lust at least, with some of his characters, and those relationships were in his head and best left there.

He'd had rather a lot of good wine though, and Crowley did smell lovely.

And he’d quoted Aziraphale’s own book at him. That sent the best kind of shivers right down to his toes. Really, it would be rude not to kiss him when their noses were almost touching anyway.

Aziraphale leaned forward a smidgen and their mouths slotted together, half open in question. Every one of Aziraphale’s nerve endings jumped to attention.

Oh, he was kissing Crowley. His lips were soft and surprisingly gentle for someone who was constructed of such harsh lines. Crowley’s knuckles brushed Aziraphale’s cheek, gentle and cautious as they searched out boundaries. 

Aziraphale pulled back a bit, shifting on the squishy cushions and his nose nudging Crowley’s while he found the best angle for their tongues to explore. Crowley huffed with pleased surprise. His hand shifted to the back of Aziraphale’s head, drawing him closer.

It wasn’t frantic or unsure. They traded leisurely kisses, pulling back slightly, eyes meeting then sweeping back in for more. It was bliss. Why was it stopping?

The wine glasses clinked as Crowley put them down on the shelf behind the sofa.

"Is this ok?" Crowley murmured, already pressing his mouth back to Aziraphale’s jaw.

Aziraphale’s brain was still offline. This was going to ruin him.

He didn’t care. He placed his palm on Crowley's lapel as they tilted slowly backwards against the sofa arm, shifting to get closer. Crowley’s fingers dug into Aziraphale’s hip. The sofa arm pressed into Aziraphale’s back and one of his feet left the floor.

Oh dear God, he was kissing Crowley, and it was getting more insistent now. Hands wandering, mouths too. Crowley’s tongue hot against his neck.

Aziraphale didn’t want it to stop.

"Dad!"

Aziraphale’s head snapped round. "Coming!"

Crowley snorted into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Seriously? Do you do that on purpose?”

"I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale managed to say in a way that implied both _How very dare you!_ And _Yes, absolutely!_

Crowley laughed. It made Aziraphale badly want to kiss him again. Right on the tip of his nose. Oh dear God, he’d kissed Crowley. On the bookshop sofa with the children upstairs.

“Get up.” Aziraphale pushed his hands against Crowley’s chest. “Now!”

Crowley’s smile faded. He got up and offered Aziraphale a hand.

“Dad! It’s nine fifteen. Adam says if Mr Crowley’s not asleep soon he’ll be grumpy in the morning.”

“Little shit. Told you.” Crowley tugged on his collar.

“Grumpy in the morning. Good to know.” Safely on his feet, Aziraphale stepped as far away from Crowley as he could and started the inventory of clothing adjustment.

“I’m getting an Uber!” Crowley called upstairs. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down.

Aziraphale had just started patting his own head when Pepper bounced round the corner of the shelves. Her eyes went straight to the wine bottle, then the glasses nestled together behind the sofa.

“Have you been drinking?” She sounded exactly like her mother. 

Aziraphale tried not to fidget.. . “No,” he said. “Not excessively. Why would you think that?”

“It’s alright, you are an adult.” Pepper managed to say it in such a way that cast doubt on her hypothesis. Then she tucked herself under Aziraphale’s arm and he felt the full weight of his irresponsibility press down on him.

“Right,” Crowley didn’t look up from his phone. “Five minutes. I’ll be back to get the Bentley tomorrow.”

“Of course. She’ll be safe out there. Very enthusiastic Neighbourhood Watch round here.”

Crowley looked up. He’d retrieved his glasses and his jaw was tight. “Ok, then. Adam we’re going to wait outside.”

Aziraphale and Pepper trailed them to the door. The children said goodbye.

Aziraphale persuaded his face to smile. Crowley glared back at him, then he left. The broken blind wobbled and rolled itself down with a crash.

That hadn’t gone well at all.

_Dad’s been glaring out the window the whole ride home._

_My dad’s been fussing something awful._

_And I don’t know what your dad did to him but his bow tie was all crooked._

_He didn’t even notice._

_Really not thinking about that, Peps._

_Phase two a go then?_

_Yes, can’t talk tomorrow. Mum taking me out. Tuesday though?_

_Sure. Tuesday._

_Did you just call me Peps??!!_

_Sorry, Pippin Galadriel…_

“Who you messaging?” Crowley asked.

“Pepper.” Adam didn’t look up.

“You said goodbye to her five minutes ago.”

“I forgot something.” Adam shrugged.

Crowley slid his own phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen as the lift climbed up through the building. His thumb hovered over Aziraphale’s number. He didn't know what to say. Didn't quite know what to feel either. The wine hadn’t been a good idea, despite the cosiness of talking and drinking with someone who just got what a slog parenting could be sometimes. 

Not a good idea. Alcohol always set off the anxiety and the bad decisions that followed.

A touch hungry, needy mess. That’s what he was. 

Heaven, it was more than that. It was the intimacy of that cluttered little room and of having someone share with him. It had gone straight to the emptiness inside and squeezed. Someone gave him the baseline of kindness and Crowley took advantage of it.

Surely he’d never been this greedy for validation before?

He should probably say sorry, just because Aziraphale wasn't a fan didn't mean he wouldn't have felt awkward saying no to famous Anthony Crowley pouncing on him like that. Fame could make people weird in all sorts of ways. And he was paying the man as well. Not for _that_ , but still it was primarily a business relationship. God, he'd been a jerk. 

“You OK, dad?”

“Yeah.” Crowley wedged the phone back in his pocket.

Best not say anything until he’d sobered up. Couldn’t go anywhere, anyway.


	5. Living with a Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unpleasant time is had by all, but with some hope at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from It's a Hard Life. 
> 
> Also, I don't know why my posting schedule is stalking the end notes. I thought it would stay in chapter 1! Trying to fix it.

**Darkest Surrey**

**Monday 25** **th** **May** ****

Adam’s forehead rested against the Bentley’s window as he glared out at the passing Surrey Hills. That was his luck, Crowley had to concentrate on the road. Neither of them were pleased about the morning summons to Gramma Lucille’s house.

The old devil probably wanted to threaten to re-write her will again. Crowley fumbled for his Velvet Underground CD and slid it into the stereo. Bohemian Rhapsody started playing. 

Adam was still sulking. Crowley didn’t have the heart to resurrect the lecture about putting CDs back in the right cases. He suspected the more he lectured the more Adam didn’t do it on purpose.

“Nearly there, kid.” He squeezed Adam’s knee. “And sooner we get there the sooner we can get back to London.”

“I’m not going back to live with her again.”

“No one is saying you have to.”

“But if she does?” Adam slouched further down in his seat.

“I’ll say no, ok?”

“She won’t listen.”

 _Have a little faith, kid_ , could have been said. Crowley didn’t have much of it left to share though. Everything about him and Godiva had been a challenge. Crowley had always thought that the challenge had been worth it, right up until the night she died and he’d fallen into two years of darkness. He didn’t even remember signing those papers that gave Gramma Lucille joint custody of Adam, although he did vaguely remember agreeing that both Adam and the world would be better off without him.

He knew the accident hadn’t been his fault. Knew it. Had paid a lot of money to know it. Still had trouble believing it. Especially driving up to the huge, poured concrete house that was Gramma Lucille’s Brutalist lair.

Adam swung the Bentley door shut so hard it slammed.

Crowley made a very valiant effort not to rise to it. His hands clenched.

They scowled at each other over the car hood. A tumbleweed should have rolled past.

“Get in the house, please.” Crowley managed. Almost with authority. Almost calm.

Without a fight to distract him, Adam’s shoulders dropped. His spine curled and he slouched up to the steps with enough insolence to break the most patient parent.

Crowley slammed his own car door harder than necessary too.

Inside, the monstrous house was dimly lit, cool to the point of damp and claustrophobic. A near life sized portrait of Lucille herself sitting on a throne with Godiva stood behind her dominated the hallway. Queen and Princess Royal of a famous acting dynasty. Godiva was all Marilyn curves and doe eyes. The latter followed Crowley through the hallway. This was less to do with the artist’s skill than his own paranoia. God, he hated this house **.**

Hastur loomed out of the shadows like the extra in a Hammer Horror movie. A proper Igor with mad hair and creaking voice. 

“Crawly. Antichrist. She’s upstairs in her boudoir.”

Crowley looked at his watch. Ten twenty-five. “Alright for some. Polishing her Oscars is she?”

"She's expecting you." Hastur leered and melted back into the gloom.

Crowley guided Adam past the portrait and up the chunky staircase. He tried not to look back at Godiva’s oil paint gaze. He missed her so much sometimes it ached. Missed her and hated her in equal measure.

He’d just wanted to know why she’d been leaving **.** Why she’d rather come back here than stay with him and Adam.

_“Because you never used to be like this you know? Always challenging everything. Always questioning.”_

And,

 _“What has love got to do with anything? You were the hot up and coming star when_ Albion _dropped. You were a good time and good PR. I used to think you were cool.”_

Good PR? They’d had a kid together. And Godiva had passed her whiskey glass from one hand to the other and said, _“Yeah, about that.”_

Crowley had been so angry that it had happened again. As soon as he let people see him they turned away. The only love, Adam aside, he’d ever been offered always came with conditions.

Crowley hated this house. Hated that he’d thought he could save Godiva from it. Hated that he’d left Adam here for two years.

Crowley took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the boudoir.

Gramma Lucille was seated amidst a throne of pillows and blankets, her feet propped up on a padded stool. Lucille’s skin had sagged over her perfect bone structure, but it was still almost pearlescent and her eyes were as bright and cunning as a raven’s.

She was grace in decline, a fading star clinging to whatever brightness remained.

“How nice of you both to finally join me.” Lucille rang the silver bell on the three legged table by her elbow.

It summoned Hastur with a tray of what, Crowley knew, would be slightly dry sandwiches and too sweet tea.

“Come sit by me.” Lucille extended a talon.

Adam obligingly dragged another footstool closer and submitted to his hair being petted like he was a small dog. Crowley found something to lean on and, because he didn't dare glare at his mother in law, glared at Hastur as he shuffled from the room tugging his forelock like it was the eighteen hundreds.

“Well, we are in a predicament,” Lucille said. “All my efforts point to the fact that they are going to expel you, boy. I’ve done all I can but I don’t blame them. This is the third time this has happened. Honestly, Crowley you said you could deal with these behaviour problems.”

“Perhaps you’ve just been sending him to the wrong schools?” Crowley tried. His skin crawled and he needed air.

“Perhaps I have.” Lucille rummaged in her blankets and came out holding a slightly creased brochure.

Crowley lifted himself from the wall and came to retrieve it. The heavy drapes were still drawn, but there was enough of a glow from the shaded lamps to make it out. It would have helped if he took his glasses off, but he didn’t. He knew that they annoyed Lucille.

“This is for a military academy?” As Crowley looked up, Adam stiffened.

“Unless you can convince the review board otherwise on Saturday. As I said, I have done all I can.”

Lucille had thrown money and influence at it, was what she meant. She had done everything she could to mitigate without really addressing the cause of the problem, which was that Adam was not like other children.

The more meaningless rules you gave him the more he pushed back until every conversation was a blessed battle over something as simple as tying shoelaces. He didn’t misbehave at school, not as such, but he was curious to the point of aggression and half the time that meant he knew more about a subject than his teachers. This did not go down well at a school that prided itself on it’s time honoured traditions of ‘but this is the way it’s always been done’ and ‘because some dead man in a funny wig wrote it down two hundred years ago.’ 

It wasn’t that Adam wanted people to get angry with him. Specifically, Adam didn’t want Crowley to get angry with him, but he wanted to _know_. One of the things he desperately wanted to know was that if he pushed and pushed Crowley would keep his temper and not kick him out. Adam wanted to know he was accepted.

Crowley, who had been kicked out at eighteen, could appreciate how that game worked. 

“A military school is not going to solve anything. Give it a year and we’ll be right back here facing another review board,” Crowley said.

“You’re too soft on him, Crowley. If you can’t cope…”

“He stays with me.” Crowley held Adam’s eyes.

He hadn’t struggled through two years of grief and guilt not to have his son with him. If he was acting now it’d be a case of a nice suit and a cheeky one liner. He wanted to be Adam’s hero and couldn’t. It made the acid in his stomach bubble.

“I want him with me and not at some military boarding school in the arse end of Scotland,” Crowley snapped.

Lucille’s eyes were cool and dark as onyx. Crowley swore he could see every single one of his self-identified flaws reflected back at him. Every weakness, every desire.

“It’s out of my hands,” Lucille said.

“Bullshit!” Oh, yes, very James Bond. “Come on kid, let’s go.”

Adam glanced at his Gramma. She sighed and released him.

“At least try and be on time on Saturday, the pair of you. And please don’t dress like you’re on the way to a rock and roll concert.”

Crowley wrapped an arm round Adam’s shoulder.

“Remember, Crowley, I could have destroyed you after my girl died. I chose not to.”

It hadn’t been his fault. Remember that. Godiva had made choices that night too. Crowley tightened his grip on Adam and ushered him out of the room, and back into the sunlight as quickly as he could.

“You said bullshit,” Adam said as they walked quickly across the gravel to the Bentley.

“Give me a break. It was bullshit.”

“You said it again. And arse.”

“Fine. I’ll pay up when we get home. Get in the car.”

Adam smiled, but it was a wet fish of a thing. Crowley’s heart ached. Adam did get in the car without resistance though.

That was the closest they were going to come to talking about it, and the important thing now was to make the rest of the day better.

“Want ice-cream first?” Crowley tried. Adam wasn’t like other children, but he was still an eleven year-old.

“Chocolate _and_ strawberry _and_ vanilla?”

“Whatever you like, kid.”

Crowley threw the Bentley into gear and zoomed away in spray of gravel.

All Aziraphale’s plans for the day slithered downhill after Crowley had picked the Bentley up that morning. Aziraphale had caught sight of him bundling Adam into the passenger seat before they sped off.

Crowley had been in a rush. That was all. No need to overthink it. Especially when Aziraphale wasn't in love with him anyway. It had been wine and wishful thinking, and a kiss that could still make his toes curl. 

Despite writing explicit smut about Crowley’s characters, Aziraphale had never really dug into Crowley’s private life, which he had tried his best to keep, well, private. Some things couldn't be avoided though, and Aziraphale had always admired Crowley's lack of compromise around who he was. When asked he'd spoken openly about both his mental health issues and his sexuality, despite the hate sometimes hurled his way.

Aziraphale wished he could be as brave, but that didn’t mean he knew Crowley or what he liked and disliked. Aziraphale was just a romantic old fool, that was all.

Still, while Pepper was out with her mother he could call someone about the blind on the shop’s front door, drag all the old condiments out of the kitchen cupboard, actually vacuum for once, finish edits on the first part of book two and find out from Effie exactly what was happening with this shared residency arrangement for Pepper.

He had a cup of milky tea just how Effie liked it, ready at nine on the dot. Pepper, who believed her mother wasn’t coming until nine-thirty was still upstairs. Half an hour wasn’t much, but after several more failed phone call attempts Aziraphale was prepared to take what he could get. He’d even set out a plate of macarons. At nine-fifteen, when Matt blustered into the bookshop, Aziraphale had already eaten half of them.

“Where is she?” Matt asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing?” Aziraphale tried not to sound annoyed and failed.

“Breakfast meeting overran. I’m taking Pippin straight to the concert.” Matt hovered in the doorway eyes on his mobile phone.

“Well, is there any chance Effie can drop _Pepper_ off this evening. There really are things we need to discuss. I appreciate being called _The Ice Queen_ by the tabloids is not ideal, but…“

“Mum?” Pepper barrelled breathlessly down the stairs. Her face fell when she saw Matt. "Oh, it's the secretary."

"Personal assistant." Matt didn't glance up from his phone. 

Aziraphale would have called him something much worse. Despite protests from both Pepper and himself, Matt ushered Pepper into the sleek, black car waiting outside and zoomed off.

Aziraphale finished the macarons, glared at the shop blind before making a fortifying cup of tea and then sat in the kitchen trying not to worry. Of all the things he tried not to worry about, whether he should ask Crowley and Adam to the Natural History Museum on Thursday was currently his favourite.

It wouldn’t be weird after Sunday night’s kiss, would it? Neither of them had mentioned it, so presumably it would be written off as alcohol and something they didn’t talk about. That was for the best, really. No reasons to keep thinking about it at all.

At eleven-fifteen he decided he should get some work done, which of course meant turning his computer on and then thinking of reasons not to sit in front of it. 

Then it was three fifty-five. Aziraphale made another cup of milky tea just how Effie liked it, and set out the rich tea biscuits just as the shop’s door crashed open.

“When were you going to tell me?”

Aziraphale’s skin went cold. Yelling would have been preferable to Pepper’s carefully-banked fury. She was a small seething volcano, quivering with clenched fists.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and stood up. “When I’d spoken to your mother. Really, I imagine you know more than me at this point.”

“You know what she’s like! You should have told me yourself. I’m not a little girl. I could have handled knowing.” She stamped her foot so hard the nearest shelf quivered.

“I rather think…”

Pepper threw up her hands. “She wants me to spend the week packing and pick me up on Saturday! God! You are so spineless.”

Pepper stormed upstairs followed by Aziraphale’s rather frantic attempts to regain control of the situation. Pepper slammed her bedroom door. Music blared.

Aziraphale banged on Pepper’s bedroom door. The music got louder.

“Well,” Aziraphale tried to be heard over the noise. “I can see you’re upset. Why don’t we both take some time to calm down?” No response. “Right. Good.”

Saturday? The woman was mad. Hands shaking, Aziraphale phoned Effie. Matt said was about to go into a meeting with the PM. She’d call him back. 

Seeing as Pepper made it very clear that she still didn’t want to speak to him either, Aziraphale took a glass of wine down to his desk chair in the shop. It was gone four. Perfectly reasonable time to start drinking. On a weekday.

He waited for Effie to call back.

She didn’t.

Aziraphale wrote his ex-wife a very firm, excruciatingly polite email and sent it off before he changed his mind. He nearly had a heart attack when his phone rang. Aziraphale shifted papers about, chasing the vibrating hum through his landslide of _Elder Soul_ notes. Bothersome thing. It was here somewhere. He missed the old rotary phone, but Pepper had insisted on teaching him how to text. 

The phone was buried under a stack of invoices he’d been meaning to send out. Aziraphale prepared himself to talk to Effie. 

It was Crowley.

The relief and fear Aziraphale felt made him jump. He dropped the phone. It stopped ringing, then beeped. Once. Twice. Aziraphale held his breath. It beeped once more then stopped.

Aziraphale picked the phone up with all the caution of a lion tamer the first day on the job.

_Just saying hi. Call me when you’re free._

_If you want._

_It’s Crowley._

Oh God, yes Aziraphale did want. It’d been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of having a thoroughly good bitch with a friend. It was still difficult to reconcile the fact that the good friend he’d bitch with used to be Effie, and now she was what he most wanted to bitch about.

He took a gulp of his wine. He could do this. Aziraphale called Crowley back. He must have been sitting on his phone because he answered so quickly. Azirapahle was thoroughly unprepared to form words when Crowley said, “Hey, Aziraphale.”

Oh, he could get used to hearing his name said like that.

“Hey. Hello.” Aziraphale sipped his wine again. “Sorry I missed you. I was, erm, in the other room.”

“‘Sfine. Just cooking dinner…”

“I can call back later.” There was some angry hissing in the background. Oil burning? Water boiling over? He should call back. 

“Nah, multi-tasking aren’t I?” 

There was the distant sound of a clatter, and swearing. Then Crowley brought the phone back to his ear and said. “Urm, so. How are you doing?”

How was he doing? He was already a glass of wine in and there was some bloody awful American rock star screaming upstairs while his daughter probably wrote dreadful things about him in her diary. Or on the internet. 

Aziraphale exhaled slowly. Yes, what he needed now more than anything was a friend. All he had to do was act like a grown up for five minutes and that would be something he might be able to have. “Not doing very well, if I’m honest.”

It shouldn’t be possible to hear someone wet their lips down a phone line. It shouldn’t. In the pause that followed Aziraphale imagined he could hear Crowley doing it anyway. “Go on then,” Crowley said very carefully. “Be honest. No hard feelings.”

Aziraphale took another gulp of wine and began to talk. 

Adam had been feeling decidedly flat since they’d got back from Gramma’s. Dad knew better than to offer up logic and platitudes. Dad knew when to be the bringer of ice-cream and give him space.

The hum of dad’s voice in the kitchen sounded like he was talking to Mr Fell on the phone. His dad’s voice always got just a little bit stronger when he did that. Like he was trying just a smidgen harder than normal to keep his cool exterior in place.

He’d have to tell Pepper about that.

They’d have to ramp up the plan too as they were now running out of time.

Stupid military school.

Adam half wondered whether talking to dad about it would make things clearer. Adam knew that a plan was needed though, and although dad’s imagination was pretty good, it had been gradually beaten down by the general conventions imposed by adulthood.

He did want to talk though.

When his phone rang and he saw it was Pepper, he snatched it up.

“Dad doesn’t want me anymore,” Pepper sobbed.

Adam blinked. She had clearly gone insane. “Why do you think that?”

“My mum said that she didn’t think he was coping well now that I was older, and now that I am older I should go and live with her instead. I think she’s having guilt or something for leaving when I was little. That and all the newspapers calling her an ice queen. What makes them think they have a right to judge her anyway?”

“And what has your dad said?"

“ _Sorry_ mostly. And _please let me in_ , and…” she swallowed. “ _We’ll talk later when you’re ready._ I’m not ready. I don’t want to hear him say that he doesn’t want me.”

She was crying properly now. Adam began to panic. Emotions were overwhelming and confusing. He needed to focus. He needed to get Pepper to focus. “You can’t talk to your dad right now. That’s ok Pepper. But who’s looked after you since you were born? Who puts up with all your sarcasm and opinions? You’ve said so yourself that your mum’s all about work and only takes you out when she wants something.”

Pepper sniffed. “I know what you’re trying to do. And I know that mum does love me and that dad does love me too and probably doesn’t want me to move out, but…he’s never been good at standing up to mum. He tries, but she bulldozes straight over him. She never listens.”

A rush of air blew across the phone. At least Pepper had stopped crying. “I’m going to have to live with her and become one of those pampered private school girls that attends etiquette classes and has a tartan school uniform.”

“Your dad wears tartan.”

“Yes, but he absolutely rocks it as only an old, gay man can.” Her tone challenged Adam to say otherwise. He was tempted, but a fight right now would be more exhausting than fun.

“I’ve had a quite a day too,” he admitted.

Pepper listened quietly, apart from the occasional gasp of outrage on Adam’s behalf, which he was grateful for. 

“I don’t know what dad’s going to do if I get sent away,” Adam admitted when the story had finished. “I mean, he’s busy with work most of the time, but he’ll come home to an empty flat and just drink wine and mope in front of Netflix until he gets devoured by his own house plants. He won’t even remember to eat if I’m not there to cook for!”

Pepper sighed. “And mine won’t ever leave the shop. When I do get to visit him, I’ll find him at his desk covered in dust because he won’t have moved since I left. He’ll be half eaten by the mould that’s grown on his cocoa.”

It was a predicament. Adam didn’t want to be forced into military school, but he’d find a way to get expelled sooner or later. If it wasn’t sooner though, who knew what a mess his dad would make of himself?

“They both need looking after,” Adam said.

“They both need to grow up.” After a moment’s contemplation, Pepper added, “Sounds like your dad needs reminding that he can still be a hero.”

“Seems to me that your dad just needs someone to boost his confidence in his own abilities.”

Pepper went quiet again. It became disconcerting after a while.

“Pepper?”

“Shh!”

Adam shhed.

After a bit longer she said, “I have a plan. Want to hear it?”

“Sure.”

It was a pretty good plan, albeit primarily an expansion of their existing plan. Adam suggested some modifications which were, on the whole, gratefully accepted. He had more experience than Pepper in this area after all. There was a risk involved, of course, but that really just made it more interesting.


	6. Haven't Got a Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster dads do some dithering, but the Plan (finally)swings into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to my beta Jamgrl who posted her summer camp au yesterday!  
> You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877930/chapters/60190078)
> 
> and to HopeCoppice and aqua_moon for the technical help. End notes should be fixed when I press post...
> 
> Chapter title from I'm Going Slightly Mad

**Kensington and Chelsea, London**

**Tuesday 26** **th** **May**

**Four days to the end of the world**

Kensington and Chelsea was a world away from Soho. Aziraphale looked up at the towering white town house and double checked the address on the birthday invitation covered in cartoon men wearing baffling combinations of leather and lycra. Pepper had informed him that it was further evidence of the gender disparity in superhero movies. He’d decided not to argue. They’d had quite enough of that for the moment.

“How do you know Warlock again?” Aziraphale asked.

“He’s one of Adam’s friends from school.” Pepper hoisted her back pack up higher and tried to stare down the building’s front door.

“That’s how Adam knows him,” Aziraphale prompted.

“Adam’s friends are my friends.” Pepper rang the bell.

The door was opened by a butler wearing livery. His superior demeanour was ruined by the cream cake on his lapel. From down the hallway, children screamed in sugar charged excitement.

Aziraphale glanced at his daughter. He couldn’t help thinking that this really wasn’t her scene, but to say so would provoke eye rolling. The butler took the present Pepper held and carried it away, no doubt to a particular table where similarly gaudy wrapped boxes were stacking up.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself to Mrs Dowling?” Aziraphale wrung his hands.

“And give her another thing to think about?” Pepper squeezed his elbow. “Look Dad, Warlock gets bullied at that fancy school he goes to. Adam said he didn’t want a party because it’d just be all the children he didn’t like whose parents play golf with his dad. Adam and I are here to rescue him.”

“Rescue him? From his own birthday party?”

Pepper unzipped her backpack, revealing why she’d felt the need to carry one half way across London for a children’s party. It contained a wodge of graphic novels and her D&D folder. “We’re going to hide upstairs with him and do what he wants to do!”

The children’s screams were joined by some adult shouting.

“Well…” Aziraphale began.

“Pepper!” Adam jogged up the steps, his own backpack slung over his shoulder.

Aziraphale smiled at him, but his attention slipped further down the path. He couldn’t stop his hands fluttering to the edges of his waistcoat as his eyes met Crowley’s dark lenses. Last night’s phone conversation was still warming previously neglected parts of Aziraphale’s soul. Talking to Crowley had been easy. It had been fun.

They’d avoided addressing Sunday night completely. Hadn’t felt the need too, and that was fine. It had been a momentary lapse in concentration and nothing to get in the way of a perfectly good friendship.

Crowley grinned. “Welcome to the Hell that is competitive birthday party hosting.”

“See you later!” Pepper planted a swift kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“Do you think perhaps we should offer our assistance to the hosting parents?” Aziraphale ventured as Pepper and Adam marched towards the madness.

“Satan’s sake, no!” Crowley shuddered. “It’s a snake pit in there. All judgement and one upmanship. And that’s just the kids.”

A children’s entertainer pushing past them in floods of tears made Aziraphale’s mind up for him. “Well, I do have some cataloguing to do.” He glanced sideways at Crowley. “Unless…?”

Crowley glanced at his watch. “It is practically lunch time. You’ve tempted me.”

Aziraphale tried not to beam in triumph and failed miserably.

They walked down the road to a wine bar that did perfectly presented over-priced food. It was quiet and there were dark corners that Crowley could slither himself into. He risked removing his baseball cap, but kept his glasses on despite managing to bag the seat in the thickest shadow possible. It wasn’t that he minded getting recognised. Was still humbled by it most of the time, sometimes though you just wanted an uninterrupted not-a-date-at-all with a nice man in a stupid bow tie.

Aziraphale fussed over the menu, eyes roving about without any real direction. The light from the window caught in his hair, making it glow.

This wasn’t weird. Or at least it wouldn’t be if Crowley could continue to put Sunday night safely away to one side. He’d intended to apologise with last night’s phone call, but Aziraphale had chatted on without any indication that one was needed. It was almost like it didn’t matter, had never happened. They were just two people sounding off about their crappy days and any disappointment Crowley had felt over being so easily forgettable had been eroded by how, Heaven help him, nice it had felt to just talk. 

Crowley wasn’t about to spoil that by setting Aziraphale up to get cut on his broken edges. He definitely wasn’t going to risk what Adam seemed to be developing with Pepper. Neither of them made friends easily and that wasn’t something Crowley was prepared to endanger over a half drunk snog that clearly hadn’t meant anything.

“How are things with Pepper?” Crowley asked as a means to look at Aziraphale’s eyes rather than his lips. Not much better, but marginally less creepy.

Aziraphale smoothed over the menu with his hands. Beautifully kept hands with neat, blunt fingernails. They gave Crowley another distraction at least, providing he didn’t think about how they would feel fussing with him rather than the menu. How they’d felt tugging on his lapels.

“Pepper’s been surprisingly understanding.” Aziraphale smiled weakly. “Suspiciously so, if I’m honest.”

Crowley rested an elbow on the table, trying for casual. He caught sight of himself in the mirrored wall, decided he looked like a spider ready to pounce and leaned back again. “Her mum’s still planning to come get her though?”

“Apparently.” Aziraphale worried his lip. Top one this time. “I fancy the Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I said so, didn’t I?” Aziraphale looked up, eyes widening with innocence.

Crowley pursed his mouth at him. “Not the wine.”

“I want what’s best for Pepper,” Aziraphale said in a tone of voice that Crowley imagined he used on disagreeable customers. He decided not to push it further.

“And Adam?” Aziraphale said with brittle brightness. “And yourself? On track for the review board?”

“We’re still intending to turn up. That’s about all we can do.” Crowley lifted his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. 

“Crowley. It will all work out.”

One of those soft, pampered hands reached out, resting on the tabletop between them. Crowley stared at it.

“You know that do you?” He hated how beaten he sounded already.

“I have faith.”

“Ha! In what?” The hand was still there. So very tempting. Crowley folded his arms.

“You and Adam.” The hand withdrew to the menu. Aziraphale’s voice reached new levels of forced perkiness. “Now what are you in the mood for?” 

Crowley’s heart woke up and started thumping. Aziraphale couldn’t just say things like that. Both the having faith in Crowley as a parent and the whole what are you in the mood for thing delivered with those eyes looking right at him.

_What am I in the mood for? You, angel, any way you’ll let me have you._

_Nope, sorry brain, not going there._

“Alcohol. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol. The Cabernet Sauvignon was it?” Crowley waved at a passing waitress. He’d have one glass with the charcuterie board and make it last. It’d be fine.

They stood on the pavement outside the bar with the fresh air blowing some of the cosiness of the last forty-five minutes away.

“Best get along then,” Aziraphale said.

“You could come back to mine, if you like?” The words tumbled out of Crowley, raw and half formed. That was what mates did though, right? Invited each other over. Nothing wrong with that.

Aziraphale smiled. His eyes darted away. He was going to say no. Crowley wouldn’t blame him.

Aziraphale’s smile widened. “Yes, that’s very kind. Thank you.”

Crowley was embarrassed to realise he was smiling back. 

As soon as they stepped into his flat Crowley realised he really should have thought this through. He never took people back to his place because in the early days he valued his privacy too much and now the minimalist bachelor vibe he’d always cultivated was ruined by the explosion of stuff that an eleven year old accumulated. He’d tried for a stress clean before leaving this morning, but Adam, with all the forethought and cunning of an expert strategist, had moved into every newly ordered space with his own brand of patented chaos.

There were model dinosaurs playing hide and seek amidst Crowley’s collection of glossy house plants, and a radio controlled car set to ambush you as soon as you got through the door.

Aziraphale didn’t see it coming.

The car began to move, taking Aziraphale’s foot out from under him.

Crowley lunged. He got a good hold on one arm, the other round Aziraphale’s waist as he started to topple. They spun gently, ending up chest to chest, partially propped against the door frame.

The car rolled off down the hallway and crashed into the wall.

Crowley’s brain told him to let go. He ignored it.

Aziraphale was gripping his arm right back, other hand flexing nervously on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Gosh!” Aziraphale laughed, eyes focusing everywhere except Crowley’s face. “Is that…?" He bit at his lip."I mean, are they...wrestling?”

“What?” Crowley peered down the hallway. The statue had been there so long Crowley had ceased to notice it. Now he noticed it. Every line, every curve. 

“Yes, of course they’re wrestling. What else would they be doing? It’s Good and Evil wrestling.” Although Good currently appeared to be wearing one of Adam’s school ties in a bow and Evil had a pair of Crowley’s glasses perched on his nose.

Aziraphale disentangled himself from Crowley. “Well,” he said. “Fancy that.”

 _Do you?_ Bubbled to the surface of Crowley’s brain. His mouth wisely ignored it. “Pinched it from the _Pimpernel_ set.” Crowley tried to fill the silence. “Part of the St Just family home. I played Armand. In the _Scarlet Pimpernel_.”

Smooth. Oh, yes. Crowley could feel the idiot, attention seeking grin trying to crawl all over his face. 

Aziraphale stepped carefully back, hands going to his waist coat and his polite-in-company smile on display. The man was all neurosis and nervous ticks. Crowley knew a kindred spirit when he saw one.

“I don’t suppose you saw _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ , at all?” Crowley’s mouth asked without permission from any of his higher faculties.

Aziraphale went very still. Was that a blush? Too dim to tell. “Urm. That was the one where the Bastille was still standing in 1793, wasn’t it?”

Crowley’s heart deflated. They’d been going for daring do and rolicking adventures over authenticity, but still, no need to be such a pedant about it. 

“Yeah, come on in.” Crowley brushed past Aziraphale and went ahead to check for further booby traps and semi-pornographic statues. He went straight to the kitchen and began opening cupboards. 

“I threatened to throw all Pepper’s stuffed bears out once if she didn’t stop setting up tea parties at my desk,” Aziraphale said, just as the silence was beginning to drag.

“Did it work?” Crowley asked.

“No. I was forced to take action.” Aziraphale had stayed in the lounge, but Crowley could see him through the door, hovering and trying not to look nosey.

“So, what? You actually threw them out?” Crowley wouldn’t have thought Aziraphale had it in him.

Aziraphale groaned. “I made her watch me put them all in a bin liner and took them into the shop. I hid them in the biography section for a whole day before I caved in and confessed.”

Crowley burst out laughing. “Oh, I bet there were tears, you bastard!”

Aziraphale put his hands over his eyes. “She was only six. I was having a rather stressful day I’m afraid. Needed to take it out on someone and I am really not proud of myself.”

“It happens. Another drink?” They’d had one glass each with lunch. Two wouldn’t be that dangerous, and Crowley had a rather nice bottle of pinot noir. He could have a glass of that and keep on top of pesky things like emotions, couldn’t he?

“Really, no.” There was something practised about the way Aziraphale said it. Something that suggested a line had been reached. “I need to pick up Pepper later.”

“Sure. Yeah. Me too. Adam, I mean.”

Crowley made himself smile and put down the bottle. For the best really, but he liked drinking with Aziraphale. Crowley liked how the writer became gradually unbuttoned and less guarded around him after a few glasses of wine. He was idly wondering how many glasses it would take before Aziraphale would allow Crowley to be the one doing the unbuttoning.

It was like Aziraphale had been keeping a very subtle boundary between them, right up until the point where he’d hummed with pleasure and kissed Crowley senseless.

Crowley was now sixty per cent sure that it had been Aziraphale who leaned in first. Not, you know, that he’d been replaying those moments in his head excessively at all. He just hated not knowing things. And he wanted to know why Aziraphale didn’t fancy him. Or, and this was the truly annoying thing, why Aziraphale did fancy him but wasn’t prepared to do anything about it.

Crowley needed to get laid, that was the thing. Something quick and impersonal, probably with someone in the industry who knew the rules. Then he’d stop obsessing over Aziraphale, who he couldn’t have anyway.

Absolute bloody mess, was Anthony J. Crowley.

“Cup of tea then?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, that would be lovely.” Aziraphale relaxed a bit.

Crowley made tea and coffee for him, and found Aziraphale sat on the sleek black sofa. He’d shifted some of Adam’s art supplies on to the coffee table.

“I need to try that thing with the bin liner.” Crowley negotiated the cups into some available space.

“I really don’t recommend it.”

“Why not? Clearly worked. Didn’t see much of Pepper’s stuff lying around the flat.”

“Well, there’s not room, is there? I think it’s her way of rebelling. I mean I know where everything is, but to others it’s a bit overwhelming. Pepper likes to implement more logical systems.” Aziraphale leaned in slightly and their shoulders bumped. “She has colour coded post it notes,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“The horrors!” Crowley sipped his coffee. “I like your shop though. It’s cosy.” He really did, surprising as it was.

“Thank you.”

Aziraphale gave him such a glorious smile. It’d have been a shame to dampen it with, _I like the sofa in the back room especially._ So Crowley didn’t. He also didn’t manage to look away from Aziraphale’s smile. And his eyes! They shone like a movie starlet’s. It was like the angel had a secret lighting rig following him around London. Crowley could plunge into those eyes and not want to resurface. The eye contact lingered just long enough for Crowley to think they were going to kiss again, that it mustn’t happen and exactly how much he wanted it anyway.

He could dip his head and get his fingers back in those cotton soft curls. Nibble on that full bottom lip.

_Not worth it. Not worth it. Pull away._

He nearly did. Then Aziraphale’s gaze dropped to Crowley’s mouth. His eyes widened, he huffed out a nervous laugh and turned away.“Well, this has been lovely,” he put down his half-drunk tea, “but I really should be going.”

“Ok.”

They both stood up. Crowley walked Aziraphale to the door, his body on autopilot while his brain played catch up. 

“If I get back to the shop there’ll still be time for cataloguing before pick up time. Very busy, you know how it is? This has been splendid though!” Aziraphale held out his hand, smile edging towards insanity with every moment. Crowley stared at him. He shook Aziraphale’s hand.

“Toodle pip.” And Aziraphale was gone. Crowley shut the door. Well, that was a thing and a half.

Not a bad thing. One of them had to be mature about this. One of them had to have boundaries. It was probably to do with putting the kids first, or life is complicated, or whatever. Stupid wasting more time thinking about it.

Twenty minutes later and Crowley was in the living room, a transformer in one hand and a box in the other, still reeling. He gave up on doing anything productive and sat down, thereby locating Adam’s missing headphones. Crowley fished them out from between his thigh and the sofa cushion and tossed them in the box.

Reading the next chapter of _The_ _Elder Souls_ probably wouldn’t help his mood because he would just hear Aziraphale saying the words in his head. Especially all the filthy ones, and, more worryingly, the not filthy but yearning ones. The perfectly innocent ones that were weighted with so much of what wasn’t said as the two immortal characters negotiated an impossible relationship forbidden from existing.

That reminded him of something, actually. In fact, the whole forbidden love that transcends time thing had been giving him _de ja vu_ all week. Crowley chewed the thought over, chasing it back and forth across his memories.

His rather dog-eared copy of _Hell and Holy Water_ was stashed right at the back of a drawer in his bedroom. He didn’t read books, or at least, didn’t want to appear as the sort of person who read books. Kind of counterproductive when you were an actor who had been in a number of plays and were set to record a series of audio books over the summer. Still, all about image, wasn’t it?

Crowley opened the thin paperback randomly and started reading about falling in love with a ghost. He cleared his throat and read a section aloud in a passable imitation of Aziraphale’s soft, too polite voice. After about fifteen minutes he closed the book and stared out the window at the jagged London skyline. He traced his thumb over the white curls of _E. Worthing_ on the book’s cover.

 _My dad likes Oscar Wilde_.

Huh.

Could just be coincidence, but excitement was bubbling away beneath the surface of his practised cynicism. That book had actually saved, if not his life, then his sanity. He’d read it when his emotions were feral enough to crush him. It had felt like somebody knew him. Saw him.

Crowley was still weighing the evidence against his wishful thinking when Adam called to ask if he could sleep over at Pepper’s after the party. Crowley agreed and tried not to be jealous. One of them at least should get to spend more time with Aziraphale, and the man was good with Adam.

Christ! When did people being good with Adam become one of Crowley’s turn ons?

He collapsed back on his bed, arm flung across his face.

His phone beeped. Speak of the devil, or angel in this case.

_Are you alright with the sleep over? A._

_Yeah, no problem_

Crowley put his phone out of reach before he could do something stupid like keep texting. Aziraphale would be busy wrangling sugar pumped eleven year olds and Crowley had a whole interrupted night of sloth ahead of him. He could use it to catch up with his reading.

**Soho, London**

**Wednesday 27th May**

**Three days to the end of the world.**

Effie had emailed Aziraphale back reinforcing her position on picking Pepper up on Saturday. For his own good, apparently. At least, after several careful read throughs, that’s what Aziraphale deduced. 

Her reply was virtually incomprehensible, both for its political language and lack of sentiment regarding the welfare of their daughter. It said practically nothing while still managing to make Aziraphale feel like a complete and utter failure as a parent. 

“Of course I want what’s best for her,” he muttered at his breakfast. He’d turned off his lap top, but certain bits of the email were seared into his grey matter. “Clearly we both don’t agree what that might be!”

Honestly, he hadn’t minded Effie being the one to return to work after Pepper was born. It had made perfect sense because she got paid more, actually enjoyed her job and had worked bloody hard to get where she was. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted her to risk all that while he was puttering around in finance-adjacent-purgatory and still trying to work out what to do with an English Literature and Classics degree.

Unfortunately, it had turned out having a child put a great deal of pressure on a relationship, especially one that had cracks in the foundations already.

Effie had left Pepper behind when she’d moved out, much to Aziraphale’s relief. Now she wanted her back for goodness knows what image enhancing reasons. Like Pepper was an accessory that it was her turn to wear. She’d never been like that before. She used to be able to stop and listen. Perhaps he could talk to Crowley about it when he picked Pepper up? Or now? It wasn’t too early to call was it?

Of course not. If Crowley had two eleven year olds at the flat, it would be unlikely that he’d slept at all.

Decision made, and with his heart bouncing about behind his ribs, Aziraphale called Crowley’s number.

The phone rang to the point where Aziraphale was imaging all sorts of pre-teen planned horrors.

“Having trouble?” Crowley’s voice was deeper, still rough with sleep.

“It’s all perfectly fine here, actually.” By contrast Aziraphale’s voice bounced up a few octaves and hit the ceiling. He coughed. “How are you getting on?”

“Well, I _was_ enjoying the peace and quiet.”

The sound of sheets moving swooshed down the phone line. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying not to think of Crowley in bed. Was he in pyjamas? Or considerably less clothing? The weather really was heating up…

Wait. It was eight-thirty. By what miracle was he still in bed at all?

“Really? They must be on their best behaviour.” Aziraphale’s twitching nerves were not calmed by the heavy silence emanating from the other end of the telephone.

Springs creaked as Crowley moved. “It sounds like you think the kids are with me.”

“They are with you!” 

“No, they are with you.”

Aziraphale glanced around the kitchen as though Pepper and Adam would appear by wishing it. “Oh goodness, but Pepper said…”

“We’ve been had,” Crowley muttered. “I’m on my way over.”


	7. Honey, You'll Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unplanned road trip commences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Keep Yourself Alive

**Soho, London**

**Wednesday 27** **th** **May**

**Three days to the end of the world.**

Crowley stormed into the bookshop as though the forces of Hell were after him. The broken blind showed its displeasure by unfurling with a clatter.

Aziraphale had spent the time the drive from Mayfair to Soho took leaving voicemail messages for Pepper and making cups of tea which he’d failed to drink. He was now optimistically pouring the contents of half a dozen cups into a tartan thermos, getting most of it on the floor as he had his mobile wedged between ear and shoulder listening to Pepper’s phone ring.

“This is about Pepper going to live with Effie,” Aziraphale said before Crowley had even shut the door.

He and Pepper had finally spoken about it. Or, Aziraphale had spoken and Pepper had watched him with her facial expressions on lock down. He should have known not to believe she’d come to terms with it so quickly.

_ “It’s entirely up to you,” he’d finished weakly. “I’ll respect your decision no matter what.” _

_ “Thank you, but I’m still angry you didn’t tell me.” Then she’d hugged him fiercely, helped herself to a bowl of Cheerios and gone back to bed. _

“Nah, this is Adam just being a little shit again.” Crowley was set to pace a hole in the rug.

“Crowley, you’re angry and you know that’s not true.” Following Crowley with his eyes was making Aziraphale dizzy.

“Yeah, alright. I’m just, nghk, he knew I was going to fight this military school bullshit and running away again has only gone and proved Lucille’s point for her.”

“He’s done this before?”

“Yeah. When he lived with Lucille. First time he’s done it to me.” Crowley stopped so he could wiggle his phone out of his back pocket.

“Then you know where he might go?” Hope, oh God. There was hope!

“Afraid not.” Crowley spun on his heel again, stalking back across the shop. “The boy’s not daft. Your Pepper isn’t either.”

“We should call the police,” Aziraphale said with conviction. “Tell them that you’ve lost the children.”

Crowley glanced up from his phone and gave Aziraphale A Look. It had edges. “We’ve lost the children,” he growled.

Aziraphale swallowed. “The children have been lost.”

“I’m not calling the police. Not giving Lucille more ammunition, and if you think about it, you’re not going to want your ex to know about this either.” Crowley turned back to his phone.

“Surely the children’s safety comes first?”

“We’ll have them back by this evening.”

Oh, Aziraphale wanted to believe in that confidence. It was a daring rescue from the Bastille kind of confidence. It was also a mirage. “How do you know? Look can you put your phone down for just five minutes. This is serious. What’s that red dot?” Aziraphale went slightly crossed as Crowley pushed the screen in his face.

“Adam’s location. Tracking app on his phone. Looks like he’s on a train. Heading north west…” 

“Does the track go to Oxford?” Hope. Hope was back. Aziraphale was near giddy with it.

Crowley swiped at his screen. “Urmm, yes. Looks like.”

Aziraphale grabbed his coat. “They’ll get off the train at Oxford. Pepper loves it there. She’s already making plans to study marine biology. Wait just a minute.”

“Where are you going?” Crowley caught Aziraphale’s arm.

“Shouldn’t we…” Aziraphale’s thoughts skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding a fatal collision with the knowledge that Crowley was touching him. “Pack sandwiches?”

“This is a rescue mission not a bloody picnic!” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale flapped his free hand towards the staircase. “They’ll be hungry when we find them. They missed breakfast!”

“If they survive my wrath we’ll get them McDonalds.” Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s bicep

“You most certainly will not!” There was a tin of biscuits under the shop’s counter for emergencies. This was very much an emergency. Aziraphale managed to grab it one handed as Crowley began to hustle him out of the shop. 

“Just get in the car, angel!”

Angel, again! Said with frustration but it still sent heat straight to Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley froze. His jaw clenched. They stared at each other for a beat, the endearment hanging between them. Aziraphale got in the car before the blush hit his cheeks.

Google maps said the drive from Soho to Oxford should take an hour and a half. Add early morning London traffic and a swathe of the M25 in rush hour, even at half-term, and that time began to creep up no matter how fast you tried to drive, and Crowley drove fast. Aziraphale jumped and cringed in the passenger seat. He’d be at least ten years older by the time they got to Oxford.

“Do you drive like this with Adam in the car?” Aziraphale gasped, hands braced against the dashboard.

“He encourages me, the little shit.” Crowley held the steering wheel with one hand. The other one jiggled nervously on his knee.

“You don’t mean that Crowley!”

“He’s absconded with your daughter, what would you like me to call him?”

“Watch the road!”

The Bentley’s wing mirror nearly clipped a cyclist. Aziraphale transferred his grip to the door. He took a steadying breath. “You’ve met Pepper, my dear, so you must realise that there’s no chance she is going to be a victim in this scenario.”

“We’ll get them back,” Crowley said softly.

“Not if we die in a collision first.” The Bentley bumped a wheel up on the kerb. “Sorry. That was tactless of me.”

“It’s alright. Long time ago.” This time Crowley’s gaze stayed very much on the road. His foot also stayed very much on the accelerator.

“Still, I apologise.” Aziraphale jumped again as they skidded round a corner. “Music!” He dared to release his hold on the door to fumble with the CDs.

“You won’t like it. Not changed the CDs since the last time Adam was in here.”

A heavy bass beat began to thump through the Bentley.

“I don’t recognise this.” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed.

“It’s Tchaikovsky’s  _ Another One Bites the Dust _ .” Crowley sighed.

They swerved off the slip road and onto the M25, cutting across two lanes of traffic to a medley of honking horns and Aziraphale screaming. William Byrd’s  _ We Are the Champions _ and Beethoven’s  _ I Want To Break Free _ did nothing to make Crowley slow down.

“Little shit,” muttered Crowley as they were subjected to Vaughan Williams’  _ Fat Bottomed Girls _ . He pressed down on the accelerator.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and hung on.

**Oxford**

**Wednesday 27th May**

**Three days to the end of the world**

It had been an early start and Adam woke up with his forehead pressed against the train window and his breath misting the glass. Pepper had her cheek shmooshed against his shoulder. This deserved consideration. Adam was aware that he had almost completed the long haul to the top of the first big humpback of puberty on the roller coaster of Life. He could just about look down into the precipitous ride ahead full of mystery, terror and exciting curves.

Adam twisted his neck so he could look at her. The fact that she was snoring slightly didn’t help. He stayed frozen in place, breath steaming the glass and trying to think about pirate cowboys until the tannoy told him they were approaching Oxford and would passengers please ensure they took all their belongings with them.

Adam jerked his arm. “Peps. Wake up!”

“’M Pepper,” she grumbled and then sat up. Her cheeks darkened, which made Adam’s own face tingle. He sprang up from his seat. “Come on, we need to check the station out.”

Pepper grabbed her backpack. “I know. It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

They hunched down between the seats and peered out at the station as the train pulled in. Tourists with suitcases mingled amidst suited commuters. There was no flash of dark red hair or blond curls. They slipped off the train behind a family with a buggy and tail gated them through the barriers. 

Pepper grabbed Adam’s elbow and hustled him behind a newspaper stand. “There!” She pointed.

Mr Fell stood by the station door, periodically bouncing on his tiptoes while wringing his hands.

“At least they made it this far,” Adam hissed.

“You’ve turned off your phone now though, right?”

“Of course. I’m not stupid.”

Pepper dragged him back against the kiosk. His dad stalked past in another daft baseball cap. His less than cunning disguise did nothing to hide the sharpness of his cheek bones or the firmness in his jaw, both of which, Adam knew, would be the result of grinding his back molars all the way from London.

He would be apoplectic when he caught them. There would be enough cursing to fill Adam’s new bike jar to the top, although probably not when Adam could hear it.

Dad never actually shouted at him though, that was the thing that always got Adam right in the guts. He could see the anger boiling away below the surface but his dad never let it out in front of Adam, no matter how provocative Adam was. It made Adam feel just a little bit guilty. Although not so guilty that he would throw the game now. His dad needed to learn his lesson. It was all for the best.

“Follow me.” Adam took Pepper’s hand. Her eyes widened at him, but she didn’t pull away.

A crocodile of foreign students wove through the barrier. Adam slid in amidst them, and with a grin pinched the cap of a girl with pigtails. He had a charming smile, he knew, and she grinned back. Pepper had ducked into the line a few bodies behind him, the hood of her coat pulled up over her head. They passed right under his dad’s nose.

Mr Fell, currently guarding the door on to the eastern concourse proved trickier. Some more charming smiles convinced pigtails to break ranks and drop her bag. When Mr Fell helped her retrieve it, he and Pepper darted behind him and ran until they were hidden from view by the cars parked in the taxi rank outside.

Crowley slammed the door of the Bentley and covered his face with his hands so he could scream into his palms. Felt good that. Letting it out.

“Have you checked your phone again?” Aziraphale asked, voice weak and wobbly.

“Yes. Bloody Hell, yes. He’s turned it off. You?”

“Still voicemail.” Aziraphale exhaled and went back to nibbling the biscuits he’d insisted on bringing.

“Crumbs, please,” Crowley snapped.

“Sorry.” Aziraphale opened the passenger door and conscientiously dusted his hands over the kerb. “I tend to eat my feelings.”

“Right,” said Crowley. “Wait for the next one?”

Aziraphale picked up another biscuit, caught himself before he bit it and put the lid back on the tin firmly. “I don’t know. I’m convinced Pepper would come here. We’ve often talked about what it would be like to live here and she knows the streets, and the colleges. We stayed in Keble over the summer holidays one year. It was right opposite the Pitt Rivers Museum...”

Crowley’s phone rang. He wriggled it out of his pocket. Lucille. That was just what he needed now. He shook his head at Aziraphale’s hopeful eyes and answered. No point ignoring her. She was a rich, bored diva with nothing else to do but ring him back every half hour until he gave up and capitulated.

“Hi, how you doing?” Crowley sneered.

“How are  _ you _ doing?” She sneered right back.

“Yeah, you know me. Fan-bloody-tastic.”

“And the problem child?” Her voice could have frozen lava.

“Adam is how you’d expect, Lucille.”

Aziraphale was looking at him, eyes wide and biscuit shedding crumbs in his lap. Crowley gestured angrily at him.

“I wish to speak to him,” Lucille demanded.

Crowley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah, no can do, sorry. He’s sleeping over at a friend’s not picked him up yet.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened further. Crowley snatched the biscuit with his free hand and tossed it out the window.

“Really is that appropriate given his behaviour?” Lucille continued with an extra dose of imperiousness in her voice.

“He knows what he did and you've taken pains to see him punished.”

“Well somebody has to.” Lucille hung up.

Crowley leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He just needed a moment. A moment of pretending he had no responsibilities whatsoever.

“She sounds positively dreadful, if you don’t mind me saying.” Aziraphale fidgeted with the biscuit tin.

“I don’t mind. She is dreadful. Sits in that brutalist castle of hers dreaming about her glory days as a Hollywood star and collecting dirt on everyone. A horrible little spider in a dirty little web of secrets. She’s like a Satanic Miss Havisham.”

Aziraphale lifted both his eyebrows.

“Everyone knows Miss Havisham. Don’t have to have read Dickens to know she’s bat shit crazy and never leaves the house.” Crowley’s voice was getting louder. Control unravelling with every word.

“Really, I didn’t say anything.” Aziraphale sat up straighter. So prim. So offended.

Crowley managed to bark out a laugh. “It’s the way you didn’t say it. You could eviscerate your enemies with a pointed silence.”

Aziraphale didn’t look at all put out by this. “How about you wait here with the car for the next train. I’ll walk into town and see if I can find them. There’s a couple of old haunts where I think Pepper might go.”

Crowley’s anger bled away under Aziraphale’s worried frown. “I’ve not got a better idea. Do it.” He checked his watch. “I’ll text you when I’m done here, ok?”

“Right!” Aziraphale slapped his palms on his thighs. “Right. Crowley, what happens if we don’t find them?”

“We will. Of course we will. They’ll want to get found. Especially when it starts getting dark.” He hoped. Adam didn’t mean to get into trouble, it was just an unfortunate side effect of him being so very Adam.

Crowley made himself smile, but didn’t believe it. Neither did Aziraphale, judging by the tremor of his bottom lip.

“Right,” Aziraphale said again and got out of the car.

Pepper liked Oxford. She liked the warm beige stone of the buildings and the ancient feeling of contentment and belonging that wafted through the arches and around the spires. They’d spent the morning in the Pitt Rivers Museum arguing affably over which dinosaur would win in a fight and who would be a better shot with an array of tribal spears. Adam fished money out of his jam jar to buy chips for an early lunch. They were thick and drenched in salt and vinegar. The fat seeped into the paper turning it translucent. They were amazing. They ate them and sat with their backs to the wall of the Bodleian Library, gazing out over the public space outside.

A rather detestable looking man had set up shop on a black painted box by the railings. His ancient and weather beaten sign read like a titillating witch spotter’s guide. He already had quite the crowd all taking pictures and enjoying the show.

“They are hidden in our midst!” He concluded in an accent that rambled idly around the country. “They could be you!”

Some of the more enthusiastic tourists started to clap. Some dropped loose change into the tweed cap at his feet.

“I thought they’d have found us by now,” Pepper said. “Not that we want them too yet.”

“It’s too crowded,” Adam replied. “Can barely see anything. Like one of those picture books where you need to find the man in the bobble hat and solve puzzles.”

Pepper sucked salt from her thumb. “We’ve got a few minutes before we’ve got to catch the bus. What shall we do?”

“You sure you’re dad’s up to this?” Adam side-eyed her.

Pepper knew him well enough now to realise a reaction, or rather an overreaction, was being sought.

“Of course I am,” she said as calmly as she could. “Besides, we can always turn your phone on again if we’re worried.”

Adam nodded. Pepper leaned back against the wall. They’d found a corner in the sun and it was nice being here with a friend. It warmed her to think her dad might be making one too. He needed someone to look out for him because even if Pepper got him talking to her mum about this residency agreement, she wouldn’t be at home for ever. Another seven years and she’d be here, dreaming amidst spires about saving whales. 

Adam stiffened.

“Is it them?” Pepper sat up full of both hope and dread. Her father wasn’t one to lose his temper. It was worse than that. He had the weapons of Disappointment, Reasonableness and Empathy at his command. He could gut her with guilt with a single well placed sigh.

“Get up quick.” Adam tugged Pepper’s arm as he clambered up. He kicked his chip packet into a corner.

As Pepper scrambled up the ebb and flow of the bodies around her resolved themselves into a pattern of movement. Two men were elbowing their way through the crowd towards them. One had wild white hair and a raincoat, the other squat and wearing a sullen expression. Neither of them were her father.

They didn’t look kind at all, but far more terrifying was Adam’s white face and the complete lack of mischief in his eyes.

“Who are they?” Pepper asked.

“Gramma’s henchmen, come on.” Adam dragged her along the wall, away from the approaching men.

“Your Gramma has henchmen? What is she? A Bond villain?” Pepper whispered.

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Adam changed direction. 

Raincoat grinned, changed direction too and pushed his way through a couple holding hands.

Sullen was on their other side, arms spread wide and snarling.

“Look, you run. It’s me they want.” Adam gave Pepper a push.

“She’s sent them after you before?”

Adam nodded.

Pepper tightened her jaw. They looked awful. Like the things she’d feared would crawl out from under her bed when she was little.

“If you get caught then the plan won’t work!” Pepper said. “Come on. Try to look terrified.”

“I am terrified.” Adam panted. “They hate me. Especially after I put a frog in Hastur’s bed.”

“Come on Antichrist,” Sullen said as he got closer. “Why delay the inevitable?”

Pepper stepped forward. She lifted her hands and pushed Sullen’s shoulders.

“Stay away from me! I don’t know you!” she yelled at the top of her voice.

The nearest members of the crowd turned to look. They were curious, hesitant. Sullen stepped back though, glancing awkwardly around.

Pepper grabbed Adam’s hand and pulled him towards the witchfinder. It was useful being small. She and Adam could duck under elbows and slip through gaps that the henchmen couldn’t. They fought their way through bodies as Raincoat closed in on them, and Sullen started off in pursuit again.

Pepper clambered up onto the makeshift stage and clutched the witchfinder around the waist, despite the smell and the sticky layer of nicotine that coated him. She thrust a finger out over the crowd and screamed. “Witch!” Then, because she had read widely and knew how these things should be done, added, “I saw him supping with the devil! May the Good Lord have mercy on my soul!”

The crowd shuffled to avoid the accusatory digit. Pepper kept it trained purposefully on Sullen. He froze, glanced behind himself, but he was now abandoned in a pool of space. The crowd were taking pictures, embracing this into the narrative of the show.

“He has oodles of nipples!” Adam added, not to be out done, “And a cat. It’s called…”

“Mr Fluffy Boots!” cried Pepper, which was quite the funniest name for a cat she could think of.

“Aye? A witch yer ken?” asked the witchfinder, suddenly unsure of himself.

There was an expectancy to the crowd now.

Sullen began to back away. This gave the witchfinder courage. “Oi, away wi’ye!”

Pepper ducked as the sign swung horizontal to the ground, quivering threateningly.

“There’s another one!” Adam sought out Raincoat. “He tempted me with sweets! And gingerbread houses and, and…he weighs the same as a  _ duck _ !”

The sign swung back and forth. “Didnae say?” crowed the witchfinder. “We are surrounded! Who’s gonnae join me in the army of light?”

The crowd glanced about. A weak ‘huzzah!’ rose from the rear. 

The witchfinder was not to be deterred. He tried again. This time, the crowd having been given time to get used to the idea of audience participation, was more enthusiastic.

Sullen and Raincoat drew together. They glanced around them at the flashing cameras.

“We’re not done with you!” Sullen growled with all the dramatic flair of a pantomime villain. Then they both ran. The crowd cheered. The witchfinder dropped the sign. He sat down on the box and began rolling a cigarette. “Show’s over. Away wi’ ye!” He was shaking.

Pepper made Adam leave him some of the jam jar money in the tweed hat, and then they went to catch their bus. 


	8. I've Fallen in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start hotting up with the adults. The children get cold feet.
> 
> Ducks are traumatized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for still reading. I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Chapter title from I Want To Break Free
> 
> Minor CW for Adam referencing Gramma Lucille's parenting methods.

**Oxford**

**Wednesday 27th May**

**Three days to the end of the world**

After a completely fretful and useless morning, Aziraphale arranged to meet Crowley at the Alice in Wonderland themed café by the river. He’d been saving it as a last desperate hope that the blueberry scones would lure Pepper there at lunch time. A quick scan of the higgledy-piggedly tables didn’t reveal a head of tight, dark curls. The weight of guilt Aziraphale had been lugging around in his guts all day hardened. Still, positive mental attitude and all that. It was still only eleven-fifteen, not lunch time yet. Aziraphale forced himself to order tea. To the rear of the cafe were tables set up on a shady patio next to the river. Aziraphale set himself up on a table where he could see through the cafe to its front door, but shouldn't be spotted himself.

No more texts from Crowley. Just,  _ nothing to report _ and  _ I’ll meet you there. _

Aziraphale’s teapot remained untouched as he twisted his empty cup back and forth on its saucer. Ducks quacked by on the river. Time dragged and no one else came through the front door.

He'd given Pepper the Alice books last year as an example of a curious young heroine prepared to break rules. After reading them, Pepper had said they were OK, but Alice was still at the mercy of all the male characters wasn't she? The caterpillar told her to eat the mushroom and she just did it without really knowing what either side would do to her.

It was then Aziraphale realised he’d created a Frankenstein’s Monster. She was beautiful and terrifying, and while he was proud enough to cry, he had also realised just how much more challenging his life was going to become.

He missed her dreadfully . He was an awful parent.

Aziraphale pulled his note book and pen out of his messenger bag.

Writing always helped order his thoughts and control his nerves. With occasional glances up and around he began to list the places he’d looked, and brainstorm ideas for where else the children could have gone. He vaguely noted the gentleman in the raincoat and his sullen looking associate when they came in, only because they really didn’t look like fans of afternoon tea or Alice in Wonderland. They were very much not Pepper and Adam though so Aziraphale paid them no more mind until a pale hand with bitten, slightly yellowed nails slammed down on his notebook.

“You’re that writer bloke,” declared the owner of the hand.

Aziraphale sat up sharply. 

The hand belonged to the gentleman in the raincoat who grinned at him with all the kindness of a newly woken corpse.

Aziraphale swallowed, but valiantly held up his pen. “What gave me away?”

“Where’s Crawly?” Asked the sullen man as he leaned over the table.

“Excuse me?”

“Crawly, and the Antichrist. We know you’ve been fraternising with them.”

The sullen man got closer with every word, his nose chasing Aziraphale’s as Aziraphale leaned back as far as his chair would let him.

Raincoat put his hand on his associate’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Enough, Ligur. Can’t you see this one is refined? Needs gentle handling.”

“I can assure you…!” Aziraphale was pushed back down as he tried to stand.

Raincoat left his hand pointedly on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m Hastur. This is Ligur. We can both be gentle, writer man, if you’re kind enough to assist us with our enquiries.”

“More than happy to if you can show me some identification.”

This provoked the sort of threatening laughter embraced by bullies everywhere. The hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder tightened. Hastur leaned forward and swiped the note book of the desk.

“Such lovely penmanship.”

“Really!” Aziraphale made a grab for the book. 

The fingers on his shoulder dug in.

Ligur leaned back over the table. “He don’t give a damn about you. Not our Crawly. Regular social butterfly he is. Tart for a pretty flower.”

“And you’re very pretty,” Hastur growled in Aziraphale’s ear. “Delicate almost. Easily bruised, I would think.”

Aziraphale hated that a blush was creeping up his neck. It got worse when Crowley came through the door. Aziraphale hadn’t thought he’d be relieved to see that the children weren’t with him. He wanted to scream something selfless and heroic. What came out was ‘argh.’ By the time he’d managed even that Crowley was striding towards them with a jaw firm and ready for action. He was a formidable sight, despite the addition of a Hogwarts Alumni baseball cap.

Not the time for Black Knight of Albion flashbacks.

“Hi guys, sorry I’m late, but, well, you know how it is on the A40…?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale managed. “Who are these people?”

“Impressed you consider them people,” Crowley said. “They must have been on their best behaviour.”

“Where’s the boy, Crawly?” Ligur spat.

“Not picked him up yet. Having such a good time, didn’t want to stop at all.” Crowley grinned.

“Her ladyship thinks you’re lying. We think you’re lying because we saw him at the Bodleian, completely unsupervised,” Hastur said.

“You saw them?” Aziraphale tried to stand again, this time the pinching fingers hit a nerve. Icy pain shot down his arm. He tried to twist away but Hastur just tightened his grip.

“Hey!” Crowley stepped forward. “Hey!”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale lied as he half slid off his chair, one hand clawing at Hastur’s grip. “Tickety-ah-boo!”

“Where’s the boy!” Hastur snarled.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Crowley began patting down his pockets. “I’ll just make a call. Get them to drop him off here.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how it happened. One moment Crowley was all hunched shoulders and lack of direction. The next, he’d swept the tea pot off the table and swung it at Hastur’s head. 

The grip on Aziraphale’s shoulder released, replaced by an uncomfortably warm damp as Earl Grey ran down his collar. Hastur screamed, punching out erratically at where he imagined Crowley to be. Crowley hopped out of range, managed a punch of his own before ducking away again.

Goodness, he was graceful. Right until he slipped in a puddle of tea and went down on his arse.

Ligur ran towards the fight, alerting the whole world with a scream of, “Crawly, you bastard!”

Crowley didn’t have time to get up. He’d curled up under his hands fending off Hastur’s clumsy fists and feet. 

Aziraphale didn’t think. He threw himself out of the chair, colliding with Ligur as he hurtled past. The momentum sent the two of them tripping over the step into the café. They spun wildly, simultaneously holding each other for balance and trying to push each other away. Azirpahale’s shoulder went numb as he landed on a table. God, he was too old for this. Ligur’s knee was between his thighs. Disgustingly intimate. Aziraphale twisted desperately, heels kicking at the floor as he tried to get upright.The side of his face was being pressed down into something that tasted like Eton Mess Cheesecake. Through one strawberry encrusted eye, Aziraphale saw one of the diners, eyes and mouth wide, watched in horrified fascination, tea cup half way to her mouth.

“Terribly sorry,” Aziraphale wheezed. After that he was rather occupied with keeping Ligur’s fingers out of his eyes. One of them ended up in his mouth. Aziraphale was an opportunist. He bit it. It tasted horrible. Grainy. 

Ligur reared back, giving Aziraphale space to get his knee up and use it to push him off. 

He sat up. His shirt was rucked up terribly under his waistcoat and it was very hard to breathe.

Ligur, cradling his finger, glowered. His body tensed to charge. One of the ladies smacked him with her handbag. The other was coming for Aziraphale with a butter knife. He jumped off the table and scurried for the back door. 

Crowley and Hastur were busy hanging on to each other’s lapels, snarling in each other’s faces. 

Crowley managed to shove Hastur back a few paces. He ducked as another chaotic punch was thrown at his head. 

Aziraphale dithered. 

Crowley went in low, slamming his shoulder into Hastur’s chest. The two of them stumbled back. The back of Hastur’s knees hit the low wall by the river. He swayed dangerously, but his fingers were dug into Crowley’s back. 

Aziraphale had been chubby at secondary school. Always in the front line of the rugby scrum. He knew how to apply and direct force. He joined Crowley, slinging an arm over his shoulder. The extra weight toppled Hastur backwards. Material ripped as Hastur nearly took Crowley’s jacket with him. 

He hit the water with a splash and the quacking of traumatised ducks.

“Hastur!”

Ligur stood, framed by the door, light glinting off the pasty fork stuck in his shoulder. "Hastur!" 

He barrelled past, leaning over the wall to try and pull the other man out. 

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. His breath was laboured. "Run away?" 

Aziraphale nodded, he grabbed his messenger bag off the ground. They ran back through the cafe and down the street.

Crowley really did have long legs. “Just wait a moment!” Aziraphale gasped, struggling to keep up.

Aziraphale bent over to get his breath back. He was sure he could taste blood. He was not so far gone that he would spit on the pavement though. He had standards. At the moment that was probably all he did have.

He’d never been so terrified, or excited.

“Who were they?” Aziraphale gasped.

“Lucille’s hired muscle.” Crowley paced back and forth on the pavement. “She quite often deploys them after Adam when she thinks he’s run away. They have an, erm, interesting skill set.”

“They’re appalling.”

“No argument from me there. Come on, Aziraphale.” Crowley grabbed his hand and tugged him onwards.

They were moving again now. Faster. He was holding Crowley’s hand. He was holding Anthony Crowley's hand in public. Anthony Crowley had come to his rescue and was now holding his hand.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Aziraphale asked.

“ _ Return to Albion _ . Don’t suppose you’ve seen that have you?” Crowley glanced back. The expression on his face was adorably hopeful.

_ Several times _ , Aziraphale thought,  _ the bits with you in more so. _ He said: “The one with suits of armour in the seventh century? A bit.” Then he blushed.

Crowley’s hopeful expression twisted into a sneer.

Aziraphale hoisted his bag up onto his shoulder. His feet stuttered to a halt. “Oh, my notebook!” He turned back, hand pulling free of Crowley’s.

That notebook had the entire plot for book four in it.

“That man Hastur had it!” Aziraphale groaned.

“You mean this?” Crowley pulled the book out of his inner jacket pocket.

Aziraphale sagged back against a shopfront, hand clutched to his chest.

Crowley held it out, barely there grin accompanied by a quirked eyebrow. “Snatched it off him. Had to be yours. Look at it, all fussy moleskin.”

Their fingers brushed as Aziraphale took the book back. There should have been swelling music, soft lighting, and a world burning away so that Aziraphale’s heart could rise phoenix like from the ashes of its old assumptions. There was, instead, cheesecake drying in his hair and a grumpy old woman elbowing him out of the way so she could get past him and into  _ Edinburgh Woollen Mill _ . 

“That was very kind of you,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Shut up.” Crowley looked very pleased with himself. “Come on. We need to get to the children before the maggot husbands do.”

“Yes, of course.” In that moment Aziraphale would have quite happily followed him anywhere.

The  _ Inn and Out  _ was a tidy little detached house on the edge of Tadfield’s market square. It had lace curtains and a pink front door. Adam and Pepper stood on the pavement opposite as the bus drove off.

“You and your dad stay here?” Adam asked. “On purpose?”

“Excuse me for not being able to afford the Ritz, Mr Junior Movie star,” Pepper snapped. She really was quite tired, and grumpy. Tired and grumpy enough to admit that she may even have been starting to get just a little bit scared. “You can come with me, or sleep on that bench by the church if you’d rather.” Pepper hoisted her backpack and crossed the road. When they were through the neat white front gate, she waved Adam round to the back door. Pepper wiped her eyes, not that she was crying at all, and straightened her shoulders before going inside.

The reception still smelled of day old incense and baking. She dinged the bell and put on her most innocent smile.

Marjorie Potts appeared through the beaded curtain behind the desk. She was tying up a Chinese style robe and her heavily made up face went from irritation to relief as she saw Pepper. “Alright there, love? Starting to get worried about you it was so late.”

“Dad got lost again. You know he hates driving. Alright if I pick up the key?” Pepper continued to smile, just for a bit longer.

“Course it is. There you go. Will you be alright on the pull out bed? Did the best I could for you both but it was such a late booking. Half term week too.”

“I know. It was a last minute treat.” Smile. Smile as you lie to the nice lady.

Marjorie handed over the room key. “Number six. You know where to go?”

Pepper nodded.

“Tea and biscuits all set up in the room for you. Leave your breakfast order outside the door and I’ll catch up with your dad in the morning, shall I?” She glanced back at the beaded curtain. “Just in the middle of something.”

Pepper nodded again. Her mouth hurt from smiling. She started to climb the stairs, and when the beads rattling signalled Ms Potts had gone back to the private part of the house, crept to the back door and let Adam in.

There was a slightly awkward moment where she bumped into a rather sheepish looking gentleman and had to let him out first.

She and Adam went up to the room, dropped their bags and began to devour the biscuits. They were homemade and crumbly. “Now I get it,” Adam mumbled through his full mouth. “These are good.”

Pepper kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the bed. “What a day.”

The springs creaked as Adam sat down. “Didn’t realise Hastur and Ligur would be there. They must have followed my dad. I’m really sorry, Pepper. I didn’t think Gramma Lucille would be so bothered. I didn't think she'd find out I'd run away so quick. I won’t let them get us though. Not before our dads find us."

Pepper nibbled at her lip. " Do you think it'll still work?"

" I don't see why not. They'll both still have to work together. Spend time together. They'll both still succeed in finding us. And I'm going to military school and you’re going to your mum’s whatever. That was the whole point wasn't it? It wasn’t about us. It was about them and making sure they knew they could succeed at something and had somebody else to look out for them." Adam folded his arms." It can still work." His bottom lip stuck out petulantly.

Pepper sat up. It had to work. Even though remorse was rearing its ugly head. Pepper didn't care for remorse and changed the subject. “Has your Gramma sent those men after you before?”

“Couple of times. But it’s ok, you know? I’m ok. Just they don’t take no for an answer, is all.”

“They hurt you?”

“Nah,” Adam said in a way that very much meant yes.

Pepper had a good imagination. She could imagine all the fear that would come from being so miserable that running away from home seemed like the best option, and the feral terror that would come from being a child dragged back again by two grown men who didn’t take no for an answer. She flung her arms round Adam’s neck before she could chicken out, or think too much about why she wanted to do it.

“We’ll get you out of this,” Pepper whispered into Adam’s neck. “We’re both smart. My dad is very smart.”

“My dad is smart too. He’s just all about the nervous anxiety first.” Adam laughed, but he hugged Pepper back, hard, before he let go.

“We should call them,” Pepper decided.

“You starting to feel bad?” Adam’s impish grin was back, although there was a fresh kind of brittleness to it.

“Yes, actually.”

“Yeah, me too. It really sucks.” Adam scrubbed his hands over his face.

“But we shouldn’t give up.” She thought she wanted to. Wasn’t sure though. This was about her dad’s best interests, not her own fear.

Adam shook his head. “We’re still going to get into trouble. Might as well make it count. Plus, it’s not really been long enough for it to work.”

“And it’ll all be over tomorrow.” Pepper nodded.

“I still feel awful.”

“Me too. Should we phone them?”

Adam nodded.

A weight lifted from Pepper’s heart. “Use your phone.”


	9. Do buh dum ba beh beh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes to Crowley with a proposition.  
> Crowley responds by being a hot mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a speedy up date because I've had a week off and I don't want to go back to work tomorrow. 
> 
> If you like the smut, then it's thanks to [DemonDarakna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonDarakna) who helped to make it better.
> 
> Chapter title from Under Pressure. Honestly, it is.

**Oxford**

**Wednesday 27th May**

**Three days to the end of the world**

They gave up searching at about eight thirty, due to a combination of hardly anywhere being still open to search and both of them being ready to collapse from exhaustion. They drove to a Premier Inn on the outskirts of town in silence, apart from Aziraphale’s occasional squeal at near death experiences.

As he stumbled into the too bright foyer, Aziraphale’s tired brain hysterically threw up the thought,  _ oh my god, what if there’s only one bed? _

He nibbled his lip in anxious terror as Crowley wobbled back from the check in desk and handed him a key card. “This one’s yours. Figured we’d be stuck here. Got my manager to call ahead.”

The feeling twisting Aziraphale’s stomach into knots was not disappointment. Kind of hard to tell though amidst the maelstrom of everything else his brain was currently trying to process about the last twelve hours. He wanted a nice cup of tea, or a glass of red wine, or a straight shot of whiskey. Or to end up accidentally having to share a bed with Crowley so he could tie him up and lick him from his temptingly shell-like ears all the way down to what would be equally tempting toes.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley still stood over him. He swayed slightly. “You want this or not?”

“Booking rooms. Two rooms. That was very organised of you.” Aziraphale said.

“You sound surprised.”

“Just, help me up would you?” Aziraphale had sunk on to and then into the armchair in the reception and his body had no intention of letting him get up again without help.

They’d made it up the stairs and half way along the corridor when a buzzing cut through the fuzz of what was left of Aziraphale’s consciousness.

“Phone,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Phone!” Aziraphale’s adrenalin spiked and he began ransacking his pockets. “Phone ringing.”

Crowley immediately began to pat himself down as well. “That’s me. That’s  _ Hammer to Fall _ . Little shit’s hacked my phone to play Queen now!”

“Look, turn round.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s shoulders and shoved him chest first into the wall so he could negotiate his phone out of the ridiculously tight back pocket.

“How do I..? Aziraphale asked poking at the sleek, black phone.

“Bloody swipe the screen!”

Aziraphale swiped. Once. Twice. He managed to pick up the call on the third go. “Hello?”

“Mr Fell?” The voice was young, worried.

“Adam? Adam! Crowley it’s Adam!”

Crowley snatched the phone, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. “Adam.” He said with all the weight and purpose of a slow moving glacier. “Whether I’m alright or not isn’t really the point.”

Aziraphale crowded in close, questions burning their way through him. They started to spill out in little sparks of,  _ where, why, how _ until Crowley slapped his free hand over his mouth. Aziraphale still vibrated on the spot when Adam ended the call. The children had called. It would be ok.

Aziraphale peered over Crowley’s fingers. Their eyes met. Crowley snatched his hand back, flexing his digits distractedly.

“Well?” Aziraphale asked, too conscious of Crowley’s heat lingering on his lips.

“They’re safe. Apparently. Both safe. Wouldn’t tell me where. I knew he’d done it on purpose. Bloody Lucille shoving her oar in with that military school bullshit. And she knows Adam’s run too, If Hastur and Ligur are on to him then so it’s all bloody over anyway.”

“How did she know?”

“I dunno. Read it in her morning entrails, maybe?” Crowley hissed. “Damn it! He’s turned his phone off again. I can’t trace him.” Crowley smacked his palm against the wall. “I fucked up. Four years of work and I’ve fucked it all up.” He slammed the wall with his palm again.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale reached out, hand hovering in the space between them. “This isn’t your fault. You’re a good…”

Apparently tired of slamming his palm into the wall, Crowley decided to slam Aziraphale into it instead.

It didn’t occur to Aziraphale to react beyond just responding to the force of Crowley’s fists on his coat. He allowed himself to be pushed back into the wall and tried very hard to be scared.

Being scared would be the correct reaction.

He was not even close to aroused. No.

“Don’t you dare!” Crowley snarled at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Their noses touched. Crowley’s breath was on Aziraphale’s face. He wanted to hug Crowley, just tell him it’d be alright. He wanted to kiss the angry curl from his mouth.

Oh, God.

Admitting uncomfortable truths had never been Aziraphale’s strength. A particularly uncomfortable one had made a nest behind his ribs, and now he was suitably afraid.

A door next to their section of wall opened. Crowley’s head snapped round. Words were exchanged, but Aziraphale was too busy imprinting Crowley’s profile on his memory to register them.

Every bit of his skin was fluttering, begging for further stimulation.

“That was a nun.” Crowley turned back, stepped away. “Did you see? An actual nun.”

Aziraphale, who admittedly had been quite close to a religious experience of his own, shook his head. His bow tie was crooked. Adjusting it didn’t make him feel any more in control. It didn’t dispel the imprints Crowley’s closeness had left all over him.

“She asked us to keep the noise down and suggested we get a room.” Crowley’s hand waved at the now closed door. “An actual bloody nun. Shouldn’t be condoning that, should she?”

Aziraphale wet his lips. “Should we?”

“What?”

“Should we?” Aziraphale raised his voice slightly. “Get a room, I mean?”

Crowley frowned. He was going to apologise, Aziraphale knew, and they’d have to talk about it, either the impulsive violence or Adam’s phone call. And then they'd have to talk about what to do next and Aziraphale had no idea. Aziraphale didn’t want to talk. Didn't want to think. He was too tired to do either. Aziraphale rested a gentle but firm hand on Crowley’s forearm. “Should we go to a room? One of the rooms? Together?”

Crowley’s eyes shifted back and forth behind his glasses. He looked at Aziraphale and then up and down the corridor. There was nobody else there. Aziraphale had already checked. 

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. He sucked air through his teeth.

“It’s ok.” Aziraphale dared. “I’m feeling it too.”

Crowley went still.

“The pressure I mean. We’re both quite anxious and you needed to let it out. I need to let it out. We could…” When it came to it he couldn’t continue to stare down those lenses or that firm, agile mouth. He dropped his eyes. “…help each other.”

“Could we?” Crowley was very quiet.

“If you like.”

“If I like? What do you like, Aziraphale?”

_ You _ , curled Aziraphale’s tongue. He swallowed. He concentrated on the curve of Crowley’s arm beneath his palm. The smoothness of the expensive jacket he wore.

“I’d like to help you relax.” Aziraphale dared look up again. “Very much.”

Crowley made a noise deep in the back of his throat. Frustration or lust? Aziraphale couldn’t tell and didn’t care because Crowley snatched his hand and dragged him down the corridor. 

Crowley fumbled the key card from his back pocket. Aziraphale took it from him before it hit the floor. He was amazed how calm he was. The light on the lock beeped green and Aziraphale pushed it open, Crowley so close behind him his breath warmed the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale showed no mercy. He slammed Crowley back against the door as soon as it was closed behind them. It was his turn, after all. 

They surged together, mouths and hands grasping desperately. It was a spark of electricity. Two live wires jumping together. Crowley was already hard and pushing himself against Aziraphale’s thigh. All Aziraphale wanted to do was devour. It had been an incredibly stressful day and he was starving.

It didn’t help that he was an unsalvageable wreck for the man currently cupping his face and gripping his arse. (The man he pressed back into the door with his whole weight.) It had been like that since the award ceremony, really. This wasn’t about Armand St. Just or the Black Knight, or even the gang leader from  _ Heist _ . Aziraphale was a wreck for Anthony Crowley and it hurt that the object of his adoration couldn’t see his own perfection.

If Crowley couldn't be told, well, Aziraphale had other weapons at his disposal. 

Without breaking the kiss, if something that desperate and that sloppy still qualified as a kiss, Aziraphale shifted a bit so he could get to Crowley's belt.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale had no idea what Crowley was thinking with that endearment, He only knew that he wanted it to be true. He wanted to be Crowley’s angel so badly it physically hurt. Not just like this, but over brunches or when they wished each other good night.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you,” Aziraphale murmured against Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley shivered. His verbal response was incoherent. He pushed forward, pressing his stomach against Aziraphale’s knuckles.

They only had until Saturday, and then they'd either be responsible parents again or the world would have ended for both of them. Best not to think about it. Best to focus on this moment. The belt hissed out through its trouser loops. Aziraphale made short work of the button and zip.

Crowley wriggled as both leather and cotton were dragged down as far as his thighs allowed. 

Aziraphale sank straight to his knees, pushed Crowley’s shirt out of the way and looked up. Crowley’s kiss-bruised lips hung slightly parted, his cheeks flushed. The tendons on the back of his hands stood out where he tried to grip the door.

Aziraphale licked his lips. Crowley growled some consonants in response, so Aziraphale took him as far into his mouth as he could. Not as far as he would have liked, but he was rather out of practise.

Crowley didn’t seem to mind.

“Bloody...fuck fuckity fuck.” Crowley’s head knocked back against the door and he fisted Aziraphale’s hair with both hands.

Oh, Aziraphale liked this. The heaviness of Crowley’s cock on his tongue and the taste of skin and sweat. He’d been good at this once, and wasn’t making a bad show of himself now judging by the way Crowley’s thighs twitched under his palms. Still, it remained civilised, which wouldn’t do at all. Crowley’s grip on his hair had eased, so Aziraphale leaned back on his heels and looked up. He coughed to get his voice working again. “You really don’t need to stand on ceremony.”

Crowley’s glasses barely slipped down his nose, but now those gorgeous gold eyes were peering down at him over the dark lenses. “Huh?”

“It’s quite alright to take what you need from me. I don’t mind.” Aziraphale smiled and set back to work. His head bobbed, sucking as he drew back and took more of Crowley into his mouth with every stroke. The ache of his own arousal was a pleasant background static amplified by the shortness of Crowley’s breathing.

Aziraphale slid a hand along Crowley’s thigh and let his nail scratch lightly over his perineum. His reward was Crowley nearly bucking off the door. Fingers tightened in his hair again, holding him in place as he thrusted forward.

Yes. This was good. It didn’t matter that Aziraphale’s knees really weren’t what they used to be because this was good and fun. When did Aziraphale last have this much mindless fun? He relaxed into the push and pull of it, the satisfaction of giving pleasure.

Crowley’s fingers twisted tighter at Aziraphale’s curls . He was setting the pace now. “Angel, please..”

Aziraphale hummed his consent and took Crowley in deeper, cock jumping against his tongue. Warmth stung the back of Aziraphale’s throat as Crowley came in a torrent of babbled obscenities. A sign of a job well done. Aziraphale sat back and wiped the excess from the edges of his mouth, then sucked his fingers clean.

Above him Crowley whimpered. He was still splayed against the door, his glasses balanced precariously on the tip of his nose.

“Feel better?” Aziraphale couldn’t contain his smile.

“No need to look so fucking pleased with yourself.”

“Is there not?”

“Mouthy bastard.”

It was said with such warmth that Aziraphale chose to take it as a compliment. 

Crowley dropped to the floor and dragged Aziraphale into another kiss by grabbing the front of his shirt. This one was deep and languid. Crowley nibbled at Aziraphale's lips, and sucked on the bottom one.

Aziraphale whined. Crowley's mouth and hands were working on his neck now, sparking life back into his muscles. A long finger dragged down Aziraphale's collar to better reach the base of his throat. Aziraphale's head tipped back and he gripped Crowley's jacket for dear life. This would be his undoing. Aziraphale hadn't realised how parched he was for touch and attention.

Crowley's free palm rubbed the front of Aziraphale's trousers. As Aziraphale's hips canted forward Crowley sucked on his neck, just hard enough to hurt.

This was it. This was how death would come for him. “Oh God!”

“Nah, just me.” Crowley smirked. “You like things with a bit of bite?”

Aziraphale managed a noise that should have been a laugh, but mostly just came out as a moan.

Yes, this was good. This was the white hot kind of good that burned away everything else and left Aziraphale raw, lost and invariably heart broken.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale fumbled for Crowley’s wrist and pulled his hand away.

“What? What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing.” Aziraphale collected his breath and then his thoughts. “I’m just extremely close and neither of us have got any clean clothes.”

“Really?” Crowley laughed. “ _ Really? _ ”

Aziraphale huffed out his own chuckle. “I’ll see you for breakfast then. First thing. Early bird finds the children.”

“What?”

Aziraphale was already on his feet, a hand briefly rested on Crowley’s shoulder so he could step over him. The key card for the other room was still in Aziraphale’s pocket and he needed to leave now.

“Clothes come off!” Crowley snapped at his back.

“If I stay, neither of us will get any sleep and you drive too fast for me when you're  _ not _ tired.”

“I go too fast for you?” Crowley clambered to his feet. “We were helping each other. Don’t you need anything?”

Aziraphale needed space to get his head and heart back in order. “Oh no, this was just the ticket. See you in the morning.”

Aziraphale shut the door and then rested his head against the outside frame. It had been manageable when he had been able to write his attraction off as latent fantasies. Now things were more real and he was fucked. Or rather he wasn’t. Fucked or not there was really no way he was going to come out of this with his heart in one piece.


	10. Still Believe the Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Save Me.
> 
> You are all so lovely. Thank you for reading.

**Oxford**

**Thursday 28** **th** **May**

**Two days until the end of the world**

Crowley was nursing his cup of coffee in a shady corner of the restaurant when Aziraphale bustled in. He stopped in the doorway, eyes scanning the room. Crowley raised his baseball cap in greeting. Aziraphale started like a scared rabbit before managing to wave back and then headed straight for the continental section of the buffet.

Crowley sipped his slightly burned coffee and tried not to appear as washed out as he felt. Aziraphale had kept him up all night, and not in the sexy fun was had by all way. It had been the nervous fluttering in the stomach kind of way. That combined with the gut wrenching worry over Adam both being missing and what would happen when he was found, had left Crowley in a cold sweat staring up at the water mark on his ceiling.

Aziraphale sat down opposite him and poked at soggy cereal with his spoon. He sighed, pushed it away and began to dismantle an almond croissant instead.

“Rough night?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale brushed the flakes of pastry from his fingers. “I can’t imagine you fared much better.”

Crowley gripped his cup, leaning forward over the table. “About last night…”

Aziraphale pulled out his scared rabbit impression again.

“…not that. We don’t have to talk about that.” That was the bloody pattern after all, wasn’t it? Aziraphale ravishing Crowley to within an inch of his life and then exiting stage left pursued by whatever demons were hounding him. Crowley pulled his confusion back, his burning desire to know why, and shoved it deep down. He wasn’t exactly a catch, was he? Nervous, needy, angry. So angry. “I mean about me shoving you into the wall,” he said. Case in point.

“You don’t need to mention it. All is forgiven. We were both under pressure.” Aziraphale’s worried smile flashed briefly into being and died.

Crowley pushed his cup away and then pulled it back towards him. “No, look. The thing is, I love Adam. He’s just amazing. I’m just…I mean. I don’t know if he’s mine. You know, biologically speaking.” He slouched back in his chair. “Ironic really, Godiva was always paranoid I’d cheat on her, but she’s the one who may have got pregnant with someone else. Then Lucille is always interfering and that’s my fault too. So, I’m sensitive about my parenting abilities, that’s all. One of the things I get angry about.”

He sat back, an arm slung over the chair. Waited.

Aziraphale wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. It took all his attention. “If I say that you  _ are _ his father and a good one at that, biology be damned, will you slam me against a wall again?”

“You want me to?” Crowley bit the inside of his cheek. Tried not to appear too pleased with that idea.

Aziraphale’s smile was accompanied with a faint blush. “You chose Adam, Crowley, you raised him. Like you said anything else is just biology. Do you want me to lecture you on nature versus nurture? I'll quote  _ Frankenstein  _ at you _ ,  _ so help me, I will.” He continued to twist at the napkin. “Why do you feel it’s your fault Lucille interferes?”

Crowley swallowed. “You know how Goddy died?”

“I saw the headlines, couldn’t escape them, but I didn’t like to pry.”

“Well, the reason she was driving under the influence was because she was leaving me. We had an argument about Adam, among other things. I mean we’d been having lots of arguments. I’d changed, apparently. No longer happy to play the media circus game. Apparently me being honest about who I was, who I used to be, hurt her image. Doesn’t matter.”

It did matter. Crowley had worked his whole life to get somewhere where he could make his own family and where people listened to him and he could make a difference. Then as soon as he tried the woman who was the linchpin of that family got all angsty because it was one thing making donations, but did he really have to talk about his time on the streets, or his own experiences coming out? Wasn’t he thinking about how that made her look?

Didn’t matter. Not right now. This was about Adam.

“I blamed myself for it,” Crowley said. Blamed the fact that if he’d been a bit less himself things might have been different. Funny really, couldn’t stand himself at the best of times. Couldn’t stand the expression on Aziraphale’s face either. “Oh, no, don’t look like that. I’ve already paid someone a great deal of money to talk me back from that precipice. Still, I blamed myself and I went off the rails for a bit. Depression, anger. Lucille hated me, hates me, but she decided family reputation came first, so rather than throwing me to the wolves she sorted it. The price of that was giving her joint custody of Adam. I was too buried in my own shit to think twice about it. So, my fault.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s hand was on the table between them again. An offer and a question. 

Crowley wanted to take it in both of his own, turn it so he could kiss the knuckles. Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk kicking his heart across the table if he thought it’d be rejected. “Don’t pity me, not now. Not here.”

Crowley inclined his head towards the young couple approaching the table with the keen-eyed desperation of terrified people who are nevertheless committed to their course of action. 

Oh no. Not now when he was feeling jagged and exposed. Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s hand one last time and fixed his smile in place. Wasn’t the fans’ fault. He made his body relax and waited for the inevitable.

The woman took a deep breath, “Excuse me, I’m really sorry to interrupt.” Her eyes darted from Aziraphale to Crowley and then back again. “Are you Mr Fell?”

Aziraphale’s teacup clattered on his saucer. His panic filled eyes turned on Crowley.

“Yeah.” Crowley laughed, equal parts amusement and relief. “That’s him.”

“Oh!” the young woman lit up. “Would you mind? I don’t normally but I loved your book.” Said book was pulled out of her shoulder bag and proffered with a slightly leaky biro. 

Aziraphale stared at both, his mouth slightly open. 

Crowley could only imagine what he’d look like if she’d turned down the corners of the book’s pages.

“Use mine.” Crowley handed his own pen across the table. It was sleek and black, and it could write underwater. 

Aziraphale glanced at him sideways. His smile looked hunted, but he took the pen and then the book and with a slightly dry voice asked, “Who shall I make it out to?”

“Sherryl. Two Rs, one Y, one L.”

Crowley didn’t bother to hide his grin as the book was signed and handed back with a suitable amount of gushing on both sides.

The couple departed and Aziraphale turned back to the table. He took a deep breath and tweaked his bow tie back into place.

“First time?” Crowley continued to grin.

“Gosh, yes. Outside of pre-arranged signings. I mean…” he leaned forward over the table. “She recognised me. I haven’t even shaved this morning. I don’t have a tooth brush!”

“Don’t think she cared.”

“Stop laughing. This is your fault.”

“How is your literary renown my fault?”

Aziraphale waved his hand in the general direction of Crowley’s baseball cap. “If it weren’t for your cunning disguise they would have been bothering you.”

“You loved it.” He had.

Another tweak of the bow tie, this time accompanied with a sly smile. “Perhaps. Maybe. Oh, alright, yes, after the shock had worn off.”

“Let’s get out of here then before the rampaging starts. Find ourselves some clean shirts and some decent coffee.” Crowley pushed back his chair.

“And a razor.” Aziraphale scrubbed at his jaw.

“You are not shaving in the Bentley. Don’t care how famous you are.”

It had seemed like a good plan. The Premier Inn was on the outskirts of Oxford so it hadn’t made sense to drive into town for clothes, then back out to get changed and check out. That was before Crowley found himself subjected to the rustle of clothing and a flash of Aziraphale’s shoulder in the rear view mirror.

Thank whoever that he had his glasses on.

The Bentley was parked up in a secluded spot on a country lane while Aziraphale twisted about changing his shirt in the back seat. Crowley had switched t-shirts on the side of the road. He had quite a few less layers to contend with though. Honestly, it was May, and yes this was Britain, but even here the weather didn’t demand vest and shirt and waistcoat. Bow ties and fucking braces!

It was the world’s most provocative reverse strip tease. All Crowley could think about was last night’s blow job and whether or not there was room on the back seat of the Bentley to return the favour.

If Aziraphale would let him. 

There was attraction there, Crowley knew it. It was just difficult untangling his own insecurities as a starting point to considering what Aziraphale’s might be.

Crowley clenched his hand on his knee. He should be thinking about Adam and Pepper, not about how to woo Aziraphale.

And he was daydreaming about wooing now, and un-ironically at that. Absolute fucking mess.

Crowley sipped his slightly better coffee and contemplated the hedgerow rather than which particular item of clothing Aziraphale was currently wrestling with.

He checked his phone again in case Adam had turned his back on. Nothing. He called the phone anyway but couldn’t bring himself to leave a voicemail that would just be equal parts anger and sarcasm and fear. 

Crowley took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.

Satan, but he was tired.

Aziraphale got into the passenger seat and began to do up his bow tie. His cuffs were loose too and his coat abandoned on the back seat somewhere. Crowley continued to stare at his phone as naked wrists flashed back and forth in his peripheral vision. His fingers itched to take Aziraphale’s hand and run his tongue over his pulse, feel it quicken.

Fucking wrists. Wrists weren’t sexy.

Finally, Aziraphale set to work on his cuffs. “I think I know what we should do.” 

Crowley was glad someone did. 

“About the children,” Aziraphale said.

Yes, the children. Focus. Damn, he was tired. He wanted to exhaust himself to sleep and not be an adult anymore. Crowley replaced his glasses and took another swig of coffee. “Let’s have it then.”

Aziraphale smiled and the warmth of it chased away some of the shadows clinging to Crowley’s soul. Turned out hope was catching.

“There’s a Bed and Breakfast not far from here. A village called Tadfield. Charming, if eclectic place where Pepper and I sometimes stay to get out of the city. The owner adored Pepper. If Lucille’s employees are on to them I think she’d go there. May even have got there last night if Adam said they were safe.”

“They could still be there now!” Crowley nearly clapped his hands.

“Yes!” Aziraphale did clap, bouncing in his seat.

“Ha! We’ve got them.”

Aziraphale beamed. Crowley swooped in, gripping the back of Aziraphale’s neck to plant a kiss on his lips.

Aziraphale stiffened.

Crowley pulled back.

They looked at each other in stunned silence. Heat clawed its way out of Crowley’s stomach and up the back of his neck. Aziraphale’s cheeks went pink.

“I…”

“Start the car,” Aziraphale prompted.

“Yeah, right.” Crowley got the key in the ignition on the second try. “Time is of the essence. The game is afoot…and yes, I know, but Cumberbatch said it in  _ Sherlock _ , doesn’t mean I’ve read the bloody thing.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. His eyebrows twitched.

“It’s originally from _Henry V_ , anyway,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows darted up into his hairline. He couldn’t quite keep his smile under wraps. It turned the twinkle in his eyes up to stun.

Crowley pulled the car out onto the road. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale again. “Learned Shakespeare in self-defence. ‘M an actor.”

“Yes, so you keep reminding me.”

“Do you want to walk to Tadfield?”

Aziraphale wisely kept silent **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a slight wait for the next chapters as I need to get my Mini Bang fic posted this week and past Tawny didn't get herself organised in time. 
> 
> Present Tawny apologies.


	11. Secret Harmonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Pepper get help from an unexpected (and embarrassed) quarter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience and still reading. 
> 
> This chapter was a tough to write. It seemed like a good idea in my head. My amazing beta  
> [Jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/profile) has helped so much with this. 
> 
> Chapter title from It's a Kind of Magic.

**Tadfield**

**Thursday 28th May**

**Two days until the end of the world**

It was a beautiful day, and Tadfield was a beautiful village. There had been several Sunday afternoons where Pepper and her dad had dawdled away time at the National Gallery, and could say with almost complete confidence that if Turner and Lanser had met Samuel Palmer in a pub and worked it all out, and then got Stubbs to do the horses, it couldn’t have been better.

The residents knew this. They also knew how to tempt money from the pockets of tourists. For example, there were lots of places to get ice-cream. The sort of thick double cream variety made by local producers that was so rich it’d coat your throat all the way down.

Pepper and Adam sat on the wall in front of the church each with a cone as big as they could persuade the gentleman in the shop to make them and kept an eye on the road into the village.

“Your dad’s definitely going to know where you’ve gone?” Adam asked. 

Pepper did not roll her eyes. This was not Adam pushing for a reaction but being genuinely concerned. They’d slept fully clothed and wrapped round each other and if one of them had cried (not Pepper, obviously not Pepper) then it would never be mentioned. Ever.

Adam’s hand rested on the wall between them. Pepper gently laid her own over it. “He’s smart. I’ve told you. When he focuses anyway.”

Adam glanced at her with wide blue eyes.

“He’ll be focused,” she said. She hoped.

This had seemed like such a good idea when made in the safety of her own bedroom, tucked away in a blanket of her own anger. They’d decided to continue though. Sworn it. It was for everybody’s own good, really.

“There!” Adam pointed to the bend in the road. A black car glided into the village, slowing down as it passed each building. The windows were tinted. It was most definitely not Mr Crowley’s Bentley.

Adam tensed. He slid off the wall as the car rolled to a stop, blocking the road. The door opened and Hastur got out, dark devil’s eyes fixed straight on them.

Pepper dropped her ice-cream. She and Adam were running before Hastur yelled, “Oi! Antichrist!”

There was a forest on the far side of the church and Pepper headed towards it, dodging gravestones. Don’t look back. Isn’t that what people said? Keep your eye on where you needed to get too.

Adam cried out in terror. Pepper looked back. He’d tumbled forward, skidding to his knees on the gravel path. Pepper hesitated. The low wall that stood between her and the forest was so close, but Adam wasn’t up yet, and Hastur was nearly on him. Pepper sprinted back. She reached them just as Hastur hauled Adam up by his backpack. She flung herself forward, nails going for Hastur’s wrist. He batted her away, one big hand catching her temple. As she stumbled, Ligur seized the back of her collar. Pepper choked as she was hauled backwards. 

Tyres screeched on the road and The Bentley skidded to a halt.

“Let them go!”

Pepper’s dad hurried up the path. She was both relieved to see him and wanted him to be almost anywhere else. Her dad with his soft, fussy hands and nervous smiles. These men would destroy him.

“You can have the girl! Take her and you can both walk away.” Hastur had Adam’s head under his arm now. “We only want this one.” He gave Adam a shake. Adam tried to kick him.

Pepper’s dad looked right at her. He wrung his hands and then glanced back at Hastur. “I must insist on taking both children.”

This wasn’t the expected response, given the way Hastur blinked owlishly. 

Her dad lifted his chin. “Both children please, if you would be so good.”

Pepper gasped as Ligur flung an arm around her neck, dragging her back into his body. "That’s not the deal, flower.”

Pepper's dad stepped forward, and the grip tightened.

She was not going to cry. Bullies didn’t deserve her tears. Pepper bit the inside of her mouth and tried to think through the fear.

Adam’s dad was hurrying down the path now too. He held the Bentley’s crank shaft down by his side. “Come on guys, let them go. We’ll all be there on Saturday. Big happy family.”

“Get out of the way, Crawly. We’re taking him back to her ladyship,” Hastur said stubbornly. “Someone has to discipline him.”

“I’m not going back!” Adam's shout was muffled by Hastur’s arm. “Tell them, Dad.”

“It’s alright, kid.”

He didn’t sound sure. And it didn’t look alright. Why did adults always have to lie about stuff like that? As usual, Pepper would have to sort this out herself.

“Oh, I feel weird.” She put her weight on Ligur’s forearm, dragging him forward. “I’ve had too much ice-cream.” She began to retch. “I’m going to be sick.” She dribbled onto his inner elbow a bit.

“Urgh!” Ligur’s grip eased as he tried to push her as far away as he could without letting her go. As soon as Pepper had space, she sunk her teeth into him. 

Ligur cried out and shoved her away from him hard. Pepper fell forwards, arms flung out. The gravel scratched her palms and knees as she landed. 

It was enough of a distraction that Hastur turned to look. Adam's dad smacked the back of his legs with the Bentley’s crankshaft. As Hastur flinched, Adam twisted free. Hastur grabbed for him, catching a fistful of his backpack.

“You little…” Ligur loomed over Pepper, fists clenched.

Pepper scrambled backwards on her feet and hands. Her dad stepped over her and punched Ligur in the face. Ligur’s head snapped round, then back as her dad hit him again. 

She’d never seen her dad look so angry. Not even when she’d drawn a self portrait in one of his books of prophecy.

“Dad!” Pepper clambered up, throwing her arms round him and burying her nose in his chest. He hugged her close with one hand, shaking out the fingers of the other. “Ouch,” he muttered.

“Ouch!” Ligur was bent over, snarling through his cupped hands. “Give you both bloody ouch.” 

“Run, darling.” Pepper’s dad gave her a push.

“What about Adam?” Pepper didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay here, face pressed to the velvety safety of his waistcoat. 

“He’ll be right behind you. Go on now.” He gave her another push. Pepper squeezed him tight and stepped back. 

Ligur was moving towards them again, blood on his nose and absolute death burning up his eyes. Pepper ran. She didn’t look back, not even when Adam caught up to he, minus his backpack. Wouldn’t have been able to see anything through her tears anyway.

Adam couldn’t stop running. Looked like Pepper couldn’t either. She’d had quite a good head start, but he was catching up to her now. They tore through the bracken, jumping logs and weaving through the trees until they burst out of the wood and straight into a country lane.

Brakes squealed. Adam dragged Pepper back by her coat as the car swerved. Its front tyre (of which there was only one) bounced up on the verge and it bumped to a halt. The engine smoked.

Adam ran towards the car just as a tall, bespectacled man with a worried chin climbed out. 

“We’re really sorry,” Adam said. “Are you ok?”

“Are you ok?” the man asked. “I nearly hit you! She didn’t say anything about nearly hitting you! Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” said Adam. Then after considering everything that had happened recently added, “I guess.”

The man sagged with relief, placing a hand on the bonnet of the car. There was a moment while his skin registered that the metal was too hot before he snatched his hand back. He blew on his palm distractedly. “Thank goodness. I’d be in trouble if you’re not. Although I’m sure if you weren’t going to be ok Anathema would have mentioned it. Look, this is urm. I mean…” He glanced down at his trainers. “It’s going to sound really silly, but you are Adam and Pepper, aren’t you?”

Pepper drew closer to Adam. “Should we know you?”

“Oh, no. That’s what makes the whole thing so excruciatingly awkward.” His nervous laugh died when Adam and Pepper didn’t return it. “I’m Newton. Pulsifer. With a P. People call me Newt though.”

“Hi, Newt. We’ll just be on our way then.” Adam tugged at Pepper’s sleeve. “If you’re sure you’re ok.”

They began to back away slowly.

Newt came round from the side of the car. He stopped and sighed. “Look. This is weird, and trust me, I know weird, but my girlfriend sent me out here to pick you up.” He said this to his shoes, scratching at the back of his neck in apology. 

“Yes, that’s weird,” Adam agreed. There was something very weird about this sun-soaked country lane. Birds were tweeting and the birch leaves rustled in the breeze. There was a thickness to the air though. Not unpleasant, but not entirely to be trusted either.

Pepper’s hand found Adam’s curling their fingers together tightly.

Newt sighed again. It was a world weary sigh that suggested this wasn’t the first time he’d had a conversation like this. “Anathema’s several times great-grandmother left her a book of prophecies; it’s how we met, actually. We decided to destroy it. I mean, you can imagine how having your life run by a seventeenth century witch could really take the fun out of things.” His eyes were imploring.

“Yeah,” said Adam. This was interesting though. Witches and prophecies. He could put it in his book.

“Trouble is the gift of prophecies is kind of inherited. I mean it’s not as strong in Ana, given the dilution of time and genetic drift, but sometimes she has these not quite _de ja vu_ moments. She says, Newt do this, and honestly there’s no arguing with her. I mean there’s no arguing with her most of the time…”

“So why isn’t she here?” Pepper said. 

“She’s currently lying down with a wet towel over her face. When realities get all bendy it gives her eye strain.” Newt smiled. It was almost as weak as his chin. “I don’t expect you to believe me really, but Anathema did say to tell you that, erm, let me think…” he searched his trouser pockets, then his jacket pockets before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper torn from a notebook. “Yes. Your dad isn’t the only one tracking you with a phone app.” He blinked at them. “That sounded more convincing when Anathema said it.”

Pepper grabbed Adam’s shoulders. “Your Gramma! That’s how they keep finding us! Urgh, we’ve been so stupid.”

Adam’s stomach dropped. “I should have realised…”

“It’s ok,” Pepper said firmly. “We just don’t use your phone again. And we circle back to the Bed and Breakfast…”

“They’ll be tracking us the old fashioned way now.”

“I could call my dad. We can still use my phone.”

Adam sucked his bottom lip. “We don’t know what happened after we left the graveyard. Suppose that helps the henchmen find us too?”

“Look,” Newt hovered awkwardly nearby. “This is creepy. I feel creepy just saying it, but you can come with me. I mean I won't blame you if you don’t, but if you need a place to just wait stuff out Anathema’s cottage is just five minutes that way.” He pointed back down the road. 

“We aren’t supposed to get into cars with strangers,” Pepper said. “And you are very strange!”

Newt nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Excuse us a minute.” Adam guided Pepper back along the road. “We’re in the middle of nowhere being pursued by my Gramma’s henchmen. Do you have any better ideas? A single better idea?”

“Better than being chopped up by an axe murder you mean?” Pepper crossed her arms. It meant she had to let go of Adam’s hand, and he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed by that or not.

“He doesn’t look like an axe murderer.” Adam had imagined a mad glint in the eyes, or someone who didn’t have all the muscle tone of spaghetti and looked actually capable of lifting an axe.

“Of course he doesn’t look like an axe murderer. Wouldn’t be a successful axe murderer if he went around looking like an axe murderer would he?” Pepper’s disdain could freeze.

“I’m not an axe murderer,” said Newt from his perch on the car. “You can check in the boot, look, and on the back seat.”

He opened the car doors. Pepper and Adam sidled back towards him. Adam kept an eye on Newt while Pepper inspected the car boot. It was an odd, three wheeled thing with Dick Turpin scrawled on the back window in white paint.

“I suppose,” Newt said with cautious hope. “You’re wondering why the car is called Dick Turpin?”

“No,” said Adam.

“No,” added Pepper.

“Oh.” Newt’s shoulders sagged.

“I imagine,” said Adam. “That, judging by the state of your car, it breaks down a lot so everywhere it goes it holds up traffic. And Dick Turpin was a famous highwayman, so I imagine you think you’re being clever.”

Pepper snorted. It made Adam’s chest swell with pride.

Newt’s face contorted into a number of interesting expressions before settling on resigned. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why.”

“Everything look ok, Pepper?” Adam asked.

Pepper gave him a thumbs up. They went into another huddle, heads bowed close together. Pepper kept her eyes on Newt.

“I don’t think we have a better option,” Adam whispered. “And his girlfriend knew about Hastur and Ligur.”

“Could just mean he’s working for your Gramma too.”

“No way. He’d not last five minutes.”

Pepper sighed. “He is kind of scrawny. I think _we_ could take him out. Plus, I have a bread knife.” She raised her voice and said to Newt. “I have a bread knife!”

He went a shockingly awful shade of white. “Good?”

Adam slid into the car’s back seat. Before joining him, Pepper went upon tiptoes and glared at Newt’s chin before sliding in next to Adam. She had her phone in her own phone in her hand. “He does try anything I’m calling the police,” she whispered.

Newt glanced at them nervously in the rearview mirror before bumping Dick Turpin off the verge. Adam took Pepper’s free hand again, and tried not to think how this was becoming a habit. 

  
  


Dick Turpin rattled to an unsteady halt outside a quaint little stone building called Jasmine Cottage. In Adam’s opinion it really should have had a thatched roof if there was going to be a witch living in it. Still, there was a horseshoe over the door. It was corroded and half covered with the paint of centuries. Adam looked up at it, and for some reason remembered how badly he’d always wanted a dog.

Inside the cottage proved less of a disappointment. It looked as though a voodoo priest had just had the run of a scientific equipment store.

“Brilliant!” said Adam, prodding at something with three legs.

“It’s a thauodolite,” said a voice from the kitchen. A woman who looked remarkably like she’d rolled through a Victorian costume display came into the room holding a tray of cookies and milk. “It’s for tracking ley-lines.”

“What are they then?” Adam asked.

The woman, presumably Anathema, opened her mouth, but Pepper got in first with, “hokum.”

The woman blinked at her through her round glasses. For a moment the suspicious thickness to the air returned. Adam thought he could see colours blurring in the corners of the room. It was like getting off a really fast fairground ride too fast. Anathema glanced at Pepper like she was surprised to see her there.

“It’s rude to argue with guests, I suppose.” Anathema said. “Even when they’re wrong.”

Pepper bristled. Adam placed his fingers on her wrist. “Rude to argue with your host as well,” he said.

“Even when they’re wrong?” Pepper muttered.

“Especially then.”

“Are you a witch?” Pepper said.

“I prefer occultist.” Anathema huffed at the cluttered table, finally putting down the tray on a stack of newspapers that looked mostly vertical. “Cookies?”

“You want us to accept cookies from a witch?” Pepper said. “I’ve read those books.”

“More for me.” Newt’s forced chuckle did very little to break the tension of Anathema and Pepper assessing each other. Still, it turned out that Newt was braver than Adam. He plucked a cookie from the tray and walked straight through the crossfire to give Anathema a kiss on the cheek. “Be nice,” he whispered. “And please don’t ever ask me to do that again.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it weren't important,” Anathema sounded a little bit defensive.

“I know. Just, it was weird.” Newt rubbed her shoulder and she relaxed slightly.

“So weird,” Adam said.

Anathema sighed. She pushed up her glasses to rub at her eyes. “It’s not going to get any less weird. We aren’t going to hurt you. I need to help you get where you want to go.”

Adam glanced at Pepper.

“We should get back to Tadfield,” Pepper said. “Our dads were supposed to find us today. We would all stay another night at the bed and breakfast and then go home. I don’t know where we are supposed to go now. There’s no more plan!”

“I don’t think going back to Tadfield is a good idea,” Adam said.

Newt dusted cookie crumbs from his fingers. “Why don’t you tell us what the plan was?”

Pepper shrugged. She sat down and grabbed a biscuit. Adam told them about military school, and Pepper’s mum and how their dads needed help. He made it sound epic and exciting, and half way through Anathema said “Oh!”

It derailed him somewhat.

“Sorry, keep going. I had it. It was on the tip of my brain.” Anathema closed her eyes. “No, oh, damn it! It’s gone.”

“I’m all distracted now.” Adam sat down, too. At least there were still cookies left.

“No! Wait! It’s a pattern!” Anathema’s eyes were now bright with excitement. “Like a story. Like how you came to a witch’s cottage and the first thing Pepper said was about not eating sweets.” She began rummaging through books until she found a battered old one in green leather. She began flicking through the pages. “Like, oh, say, angels and demons.”

“My dad’s not a demon!” Adam said, remembering some of the less flattering headlines and names that Gramma Lucille had called him. 

Anathema put the book down between him and Pepper. Adam stared down at the pictures in the book though. Line drawings and colour plates of wings, horns and halos.

“All different societies,” said Anathema, “different religions, different eras, different worlds I believe too. And yet everyone has their stories of the same thing, springing up independently when people have never had contact.”

Pepper had stopped Adam turning the pages. She was looking at a drawing of two beings sitting at a table, eyes looking out of the page towards her but their hands meeting on either end of a book on the table between them. She blinked, peered closer and then slammed the book shut.

“What?” Anathema leaned forward.

“Don’t know why you’re going on about angels and demons anyway," Pepper said. "If we're writing anything here, it's a love story."

“Love stories are the strongest,” Anathema said defensively. “They are the ones that tend to get retold over and over. They leave grooves in realities sometimes, they run so deep.” She was moving her hands now, talking more excitedly.

“This doesn’t help us with where to go next,” Pepper made sure her voice dripped skepticism, but she didn’t care for how the now closed book wouldn’t stop tugging at her conscious.

Anathema folded her arms. “You don’t have to believe me. And I don’t have all the answers either. Right now it’s enough that you’re here. What happens next the story will take care of.”

Pepper looked like she was about to say something cutting. Adam opened his mouth to interrupt. 

The buzzing of a phone cut through the silence. Pepper nearly jumped out of her chair. She fumbled in her coat pocket. “What if it’s dad. Adam? Should I answer?”

“I dunno? Yeah! Want to know if they’re ok!”

Pepper looked at her phone. She inhaled sharply. “Oh no! It’s my mum!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time less weirdness and more shenanigans.


	12. Heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there was only one bed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter lovely people. I really appreciate everyone reading and commenting. You're all helping me through a rough patch irl at the moment, so thank you all so much. 
> 
> Chapter title is from Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.

**Tadfield (At the same time, back in the churchyard)**

**Thursday 28th May**

**Two days until the end of the world**

“Stop it! Hooligans! Stop it at once!”

The pressure on Aziraphale’s back eased as someone’s knee was removed from between his shoulder blades, along with the weight of the three other bodies that had piled on top of him in an undignified four way scuffle. He lay with his cheek pressed to the gravel and his tongue coated in dust. Easing himself into a sitting position allowed him to take quiet inventory of every new ache and pain. There were many. 

Crowley stood over him offering a hand. Aziraphale took it and cambered to his feet, gripping Crowley's forearms to steady himself. 

There was blood running down the side of Crowley’s face. His coat would need stitches. He grinned and it was Hellish.

“I say! I will report you all to the constabulary!”

The man running towards them was waving a stick with one hand and dragging along a small dog by the lead with the other. He was neat and well turned out with a cloud of self-importance radiating from him. “Brawling in the churchyard! I will write to the Council! Have you no shame?”

“No!” Hastur stepped forward, fists clenched. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man stuttered to a halt. He frowned while trying to decide if someone really had used such language in front of him. “This is an outrage!” he decided.

“The kids have gone.” Ligur managed through the blood crusted on his nose. He pulled Hastur back. “We need to go.”

Hastur spun round, teeth bared. “You haven’t heard the last of this Crawly.”

Crowley strutted forward, chest puffed up like a chicken’s. “Yeah? Well, bring it on.”

Aziraphale rested a hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t!”

Ligur was still holding on to Hastur. He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “Be coming back for you too, flower!” he snarled.

“I am calling the constabulary this instant! Look, here’s my phone!” The irritating, self-important man waved said phone at them. “I am dialling right now! Nine! Nine!...”

“Oh bugger off!” Ligur had an arm firmly around Hastur’s waist and dragged him back to the car.

“Just you wait, Crawly!” Hastur yelled. “We’ll get you, and your little antichrist too.”

Crowley flipped them the finger. Hastur and Ligur got into the car and the engine roared as they pulled away.

Aziraphale began to laugh, it made everything hurt but he had to do something with the craziness building up inside him.

“You alright?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale wiped tears from the corner of his eyes and inspected his knuckles again. “You should see the other guy.”

Crowley threw back his head and cackled.

“Oh, I’m glad you find it funny, young man. I’m in a queue, but just you wait!” The self-important man waved his stick. The dog squatted at the base of a gravestone.

“They went towards the woods, come on.” Crowley slung an arm round Aziraphale’s shoulder and pulled him away to cries of, “Come back here! I will write to the Council about this!”

The woods were dim and thickly green. Aziraphale snagged his trousers on prickly bushes and stumbled over tree roots. There were no children to be seen though. He was almost relieved because it meant they were also far enough away from those dreadful men.

The thought of them hurting Pepper destroyed him. That they’d had her, even touched her for a moment made Aziraphale sick. Crowley was far enough away, but Aziraphale could hear the occasional yell, the occasional thump of a stick swung in frustration hitting the undergrowth. Aziraphale backed further into the bracken, trying to balance out distance from Crowley and the church with a decent phone signal.

He ducked behind one of the bigger looking trees and dialled Effie. He was redirected twice. He nearly hung up.

“What?” Matt’s smooth, bored voice. The tap, tap, tap of a keyboard.

The muscle beneath Aziraphale’s left eye twitched. “Matt! It’s Aziraphale. I really must speak to Effie right now…”

“She’s busy.” A slurp of coffee. Tap, tap, tap.

“She is always busy, but this time I really must insist.”

“I’ll take a message.” Slurp. Tap. Crunch.

“You absolutely will not.” Anxiety bounced about behind Aziraphale’s ribs like a rabid squirrel. “Pepper has run away. I’ve been looking for her since yesterday...”

“Az?” This voice was kind and firm. It simultaneously made Aziraphale relieved and terrified.

“Efffie! Hello! How are you?” Aziraphale peered round the tree to check for Crowley.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was all fond smiles with an undercurrent of destruction. “How are  _ you _ ?”

“Not good. Pepper has run away.” Aziraphale closed his eyes. “With Adam Crowley.”

“Run away with Adam Crowley?” A pause in which worlds were made and laid immediately to waste. “You mean the son of Anthony Crowley the actor?”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale kept his eyes closed. 

“ _ Scarlet Pimpernel _ Anthony J Crowley?”

There was amusement in her voice now. Definitely amusement.

Aziraphale silently prayed for any God who might care to strike him down. She’d always known him too well. Better than he’d known himself. He tried to climb back up to the moral high ground. “Really? This is what you’re choosing to focus on? Pepper is…”

“And why has our daughter run away with Adam Crowley?”

“We, er, that is, Crowley senior and I think it might have something to do with…well, look, that's not the point. The point is they’re missing and Adam’s grandmother has hired two horrible reprobates…”

“Tell me about the reprobates, " she asked quickly. 

“Isn't it enough that they  _ are _ reprobates?” Honestly. Talking to Effie was like playing an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes with a dealer who wouldn’t tell you the rules and smiled all the time. He was going to have an aneurysm. Right here in this pleasant little clearing.

“Aziraphale, calm down.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, but he described Hastur and Ligur in all their gruesome detail. Effie hmmed in satisfaction and then allowed him to continue.

“These reprobates are supposed to find Adam and bring him home, and Pepper’s stuck in the middle of it. I haven’t been able to track them down, but I know you have, erm, access to a highly trained group of people…”

“Az,” Fondness and amusement this time, “are you asking me to use my secret service men to find our daughter?”

As he still hadn’t been struck down by a merciful deity, Aziraphale said, “Yes, I think I am. Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Did it at any instance occur to you or Anthony J Crowley of  _ Scarlet Pimpernel _ fame to call the police?”

“Of course!”

“And yet, we are still having this conversation.” The words were clipped now. Brusque to the point of impersonal. 

Was she even worried at all? Aziraphale was slowly dissolving into a puddle of anxiety and Effie sounded like Pepper absconding was nothing but an inconvenience. She was infuriating.

Aziraphale sighed. Nothing for it really. He’d already lost Pepper anyway. Didn’t matter how much he paid for a lawyer now, this was not going to win him any parenting awards. Might as well fall on the sword, save Crowley and Adam at least. And if he could convince Effie, he'd be able to convince that Lucille woman too, surely? “I mean, it was my fault obviously. They were having a sleepover in the bookshop. Ran away on my watch. I was convinced I could find them without bother. Crowley doesn’t know anything about it. I’ll be calling him as soon as I’ve finished speaking to you. Right away.” He nibbled his lip.

Then his thumb nail.

He hated it when she did this.

The silence unfurled along the phone line, dragging what little calm Aziraphale had left with it away.

“Yes, I see,” Effie said eventually. It was said in a way that suggested she did see and knew what she was looking at was, in fact, total bullshit. “Where are you?”

“Tadfield. Oxfordshire. We, I, only me, last saw the children in the churchyard.”

“I’ll take care of it, Az, don’t worry. I’ll have them bring the children to mine, I’m just along the road at Elysium right now anyway. Tell Crowley to come here to pick his son up, when you do call him, of course, and you come too. Say goodbye to Pepper, alright? You can stay for dinner.”

“About that…”

“You don’t want dinner?”

“No, not dinner. Pepper…”

“Az, I really am very busy.”

“Alright. Yes.”

The line went dead. 

Aziraphale leaned back against the tree. He said a very rude word. Twice. Pepper was going to Elysium. She’d been going there all along. He was an idiot. He’d hurt her so irrevocably that she’d run away to escape him. 

This was all his fault.

Aziraphale wandered slowly back to find Crowley kicking dirt about and swearing at the ground cover. He still managed to do that beautifully. Maybe it was the early afternoon light, or the ambient bird song, or maybe it was now that the world would be ending on Saturday, Aziraphale had found a new found and deep appreciation for just existing in the moment.

Nothing like running out of time to make you value what you had left. If he was going to take the blame for this whole fiasco it would be very imprudent of Crowley to see him again. 

“No luck?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded worn thin. He rubbed at his eyes.

“Nah. Long gone. His phone’s off too. I checked before you ask.” Crowley kicked a particularly offensive stone.

Aziraphale made himself smile. “I could use a drink. A proper, very alcoholic drink. Would you care to join me?”

Crowley glanced up. “Nothing else to bloody do. Sorry, just. We had them and now…”

“We will go and get a proper, very,  _ very _ , alcoholic drink. Then we’ll go to the Bed and Breakfast and see if the children were there. Yes?” Keep smiling and it would all be fine. “If they were there last night they might come back today.”

“Alright.” Crowley tossed a stick into the undergrowth. “Yes.”

They stopped by the corner shop and bought several bottles of wine before meandering down the road to the  _ Inn and Out. _

“You’ve stayed here before?” Crowley looked up at the net curtains with concern.

“Not in line with your image I know, but there’s a perfectly serviceable bench by the bus stop if you'd prefer. Make yourself comfortable there by all means.”

Crowley snorted and took the plastic bag of bottles further down the road so he could step over the picket fence before sneaking round to the back door. 

Aziraphale straightened his shoulders before going inside.

The house smelled of day old incense and baking. He dinged the bell and put on his most charming smile.

Marjorie Potts appeared through the beaded curtain behind the desk. She was tying up a Chinese style robe and her heavily made up face went from irritation to relief as she saw Aziraphale. “Mr Fell! There you are! I was starting to think Pepper was staying here by herself.”

“Urm,” said Aziraphale. “No. I’m here too. Wouldn’t be at all responsible to let her travel all the way down here by herself would it?” He caught his own expression in the mirror behind the reception desk and tried to dial back the manic glint that had found its way into his eyes. “Have you, erm, seen Pepper at all? This afternoon?”

“Not since she went out this morning, love? Took the room key with her, did she?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale felt rather like he was drowning, slowly, in thick gelatinous goo. Probably the sort that covered Adam’s fictional robot eggs.

“I’ve got a spare.” Majorie gave him a cheeky wink and reached below the desk. “There you go. Make sure you hand them both in when you check out tomorrow.”

“Of course.” His face hurt from smiling.

“Tea and biscuits all set up in the room again for you. Leave your breakfast order outside the door and I’ll catch up with you both in the morning, shall I?” Majorie glanced back at the beaded curtain. “Must run. Just in the middle of something.”

Aziraphale nodded again. He started to climb the stairs, and when the beads rattling signalled Ms Potts had gone back to the private part of the house, crept to the back door and let Crowley in.

There was a rather sheepish looking man who had to be let out first. The three of them did a slightly awkward dance in the back hallway. A brief conversation over the weather was had and then Aziraphale led the way up to room six. Aziraphale unlocked the door and let Crowley in first. It was a pleasant little space on the upper floor. A bit chintzy, but very comfortable. And at least it had an ensuite.

There was, however, only one bed. Aziraphale was really too tired to care. 

  
  



	13. Empty Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounds are dressed, confessions are made and there is still only one bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut. 
> 
> For non UK readers a plaster is a band aid. 
> 
> I love my beta [Jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl)
> 
> And all of you. Thank you all for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. You all make my day. 
> 
> Chapter title from The Show Must Go On.

**Tadfield**

**Thursday 28th May**

**Two days until the end of the world**

There wasn’t much room in the bathroom for two grown men to lean over the sink and look in the small vanity mirror together, so Aziraphale let Crowley take the space. He stood in the doorway flexing his hand and trying to work out how he felt about his cut knuckles.

“I punched him in the face,” Aziraphale mused.

“Well done, have a half holiday.” Crowley hissed as he applied antiseptic soaked cotton wool to the split skin running through his eyebrow.

“You’ve put too much on it,” Aziraphale said.

“Bloody expert are you.” Crowley dabbed again, winced. “Think it’ll scar?”

“Oh, come here!” Aziraphale took his arm and, given the tight space, navigated Crowley onto the closed toilet seat with only minimal shuffling. “Head back.”

Crowley obeyed, looking faintly amused as Aziraphale poured the correct amount of antiseptic on to a fresh piece of cotton wool. Aziraphale tried not to think about Anthony Crowley watching him. He tried not to notice how Crowley’s hair felt against his palm, or the fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Couldn’t keep him, not now.

“Just close your eyes and think of whatever you like best.” That always worked with Pepper.

Crowley sneered up at him. “What like raindrops on roses and whisssshi.. “

He hissed as Aziraphale dabbed the cut. There was a lot of blood. And most of that was probably Hastur’s judging by the patterns of the smears. The actual cut wasn’t deep though. Aziraphale leaned over a bit more, trying to get it clean without blocking the light.

Crowley hissed again and wriggled.

“Poor baby, but it’s not fatal.” Aziraphale bit his lip, but it was too late. The words were out there.

“That your professional opinion, is it doctor?” Crowley’s voice wobbled. His lips twisted in an effort to hold back the laugh.

Aziraphale’s cheeks warmed. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a big boy, thank you very much. Don’t need – arg - platitudes.”

“Nearly done,” Aziraphale sing-songed. “There.” He released Crowley and stepped away. “Need a plaster?”

Crowley got up and peered at himself in the sink. “Nah.”

“Well, don’t pick at it when it scabs over.”

“You know I’m nearly fifty, right?”

“And apparently unable to care of your own boo boos.” Aziraphale flexed his hand again. It still felt worse than it looked. That had to be worth something.

Crowley leaned back against the sink, watching. Aziraphale wetted more cotton wool with antiseptic and braced himself. It made his knuckles sting, right to the back of his teeth. He choked down a whine.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Crowley said with infuriating smugness.

Aziraphale glared at him. “A bit.”

Crowley held out his hand, waggling his fingers in a give it here motion. Aziraphale resisted for all of ten seconds then sat on the toilet seat and submitted. Crowley took his hand.

Mistake. Crowley’s skin was warm, his touch gentle. His fingers putting pressure on Aziraphale’s wrist made his throat dry. He coughed.

“Brave little soldier,” Crowley said.

“Oh, shut up. Argh!” Aziraphale tried to snatch his hand back. “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

Crowley sounded obnoxious, but it was accompanied by a pleased snakey-smile that Aziraphale was starting to think meant he was happy.

He smiled weakly back, then looked away and braced himself for the next onslaught of antiseptic. This time it wasn’t so bad. Aziraphale palmed his jaw with his free hand, probing the bruise that was blossoming there.

“Shaving is going to be tricky now,” Aziraphale said.

“Leave it,” Crowley murmured.

“Leave it?”

The sweep of cotton wool over Aziraphale’s knuckles paused, then carried on carefully.

“I mean you don't have to shave,” Crowley said quickly. “Not the end of the world if you don't, I mean.”

“Maybe not.” Now the stinging had stopped the feel of Crowley holding his hand, of being taken care of, was soothing. It was lulling Aziraphale’s brain into dangerous places. “If I don’t shave I just feel... unfinished.”

“Nah, bit of scruff suits you. I mean, when I feel like I'm in a rut, first thing I do is change how I look. Gives you a new perspective on yourself, is what I'm saying. Can't hurt to try. You’re all done.” Crowley stepped away, turning his back to screw the cap back on the bottle.

His reflection betrayed the twisted line of his mouth. The way he nervously licked at his gums.

Aziraphale got up, a self-conscious blush tingling on his cheeks. “Well, if you want the shower first I'll, erm, just go and let the wine breathe... “

“It’s a five pound bottle from Tesco Express!” Crowley was back to his irritable self.

“Still, one must maintain standards!” Aziraphale edged past Crowley and carefully shut the bathroom door behind him. He opened the bottle and sat on the edge of the one single, solitary bed in the room. It had a chintz duvet cover. There were throw pillows with tassels.

In the bathroom, water rushed against the tiles, the staccato rhythm momentarily interrupted by a naked body.

Anthony Crowley was in the next room. Naked. Naked and  _ wet _ .

Every fan fiction trope Aziraphale had ever indulged in was coming back to mock him.

He swigged the wine straight from the bottle. Standards be buggered.

They sat on the double bed, backs against the headboard and legs stretched out, barely an inch of air between their thighs if Aziraphale allowed himself to think of such things. Didn’t help that neither of them had bothered to put on anything more than clean shirts and underwear. Crowley’s fingers brushed his as they traded the wine back and forth, drinking from the bottle.

Crowley’s hair was shower damp and slightly curled at the ends. His throat muscles flexed as he swallowed. Aziraphale took the bottle back, deliberately making sure their fingers touched again. He was too tired and heart sore to maintain a safe distance from the object of temptation sprawled out next to him. It was painfully exquisite. More so because of his self-imposed time limit.

Aziraphale’s phone beeped, and he nearly tumbled off the bed. Crowley saved the wine bottle.

A message from Effie.  _ I have them both. Tired but safe. Come tomorrow.  _

This was immediately followed by one from Pepper.  _ Sorry. _

Aziraphale exhaled slowly. It was relief, definitely relief that he was feeling, but also a cold dread settling in his stomach. Reality beckoned and he didn’t care for the way it was looking at him.

“What? Is it them?” Crowley leaned forward, trying to peer at his phone screen.

“My ex-wife.” Aziraphale swallowed. It was one thing to have a newfound and deep appreciation for existing in the moment, quite another thing when the moment careening towards you was about to involve emotional fallout. Still, he’d never really held out much hope for his long term romantic prospects. Would he really have married Effie in the first place if he had? And since they’d split up all he’d dared allow himself were risk free, frantic encounters that could be over before he had to get home and pay the babysitter. 

After all, it was completely in character for Azirapahle Fell to find something worth holding on to only to then muck it up. “I may have called Effie earlier. Asked her to help find the children. She has found them, it seems.”

“You what?” Crowley nearly shrieked.

Aziraphale tried to smile. “I took the blame. I mean I don't know how much that will help with Lucille, but if there's any gossip. Media coverage or anything like that it’s not going to impact you at all.”

Crowley’s ruffled feathers settled, he leaned back against the headboard. His jaw remained firm, mouth contorting with displeasure. “Shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t need to do that. Not for me.”

Aziraphale made himself laugh, but it was a pathetic little thing. "Oh, I was being thoroughly selfish. Those men are not touching our children again."

"You know what I meant."

"Are you very angry?" Aziraphale glanced up, and seeing Crowley's scowl, looked back at his phone again. 

"No. At least, not very much. We weren't exactly being competent, were we?" Crowley dragged a hand through his hair. "And they’re safe. They are safe, right? I've seen the headlines about your ex."

"I'd think you of all people would know not to believe everything you read in the paper." Aziraphale sniffed. The knots in his belly were loosening though. "She has a country house just a few miles from here. They’re all there. We can, or I can pick them up tomorrow. It’s over.”

“Tomorrow?” Crowley’s voice was cool.

“Hmm. I imagine she wishes to debrief the children fully. And really, neither of us are safe to drive and turning up drunk at this point really won't do anything to help our cause.” He focused on replying to Pepper.  _ As long as you’re safe. We’ll talk tomorrow. _

Replying to Effie would take more thought. The weight of Crowley’s attention was still fixed on him. It was disconcerting, but not entirely unpleasant. Aziraphale missed it when Crowley checked his own phone. 

“Adam’s still got his turned off.” He rubbed at his hair again. “Should I thank you? For getting them found?”

“Better not.” Aziraphale didn’t dare look up from his phone. He wouldn’t be able to keep everything he was feeling off his face. "Should have spoken to you first really."

“Hmm.”

After a moment Aziraphale sensed Crowley’s attention move back to him.

“Full of secrets aren’t you?” Crowley sounded thoughtful.

“Hardly.”

Crowley took in a slow, steady breath. “You want to make it up to me?" 

Aziraphale surfaced slowly from wine-soaked meditations on the least incriminating thing he could say to his ex-wife. He looked up at Crowley’s sardonic smile. “I’m sorry?”

"Talk to me now. Tell me about E. Worthing, angel."

"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale repeated like the idiot he felt. He hadn't had that much wine, but everything suddenly seemed very wobbly. He tried to filter the meaning of Crowley’s words but all his treacherous brain was capable of was  _ angel, angel, angel. _

Crowley took a slug from the bottle. “This might not be the time, but may not get another chance and just need to put this out there, alright? After Goddy died I was a mess. Like the world had been pulled out from under me and I was falling, falling…” With his free hand he drove his forefinger down onto the duvet. “Whooosh! No idea when I was going to land. Not the point. Point is someone leant me  _ Hell and Holy Water _ , I think, can’t remember too well…" He shrugged, attention fixed on the opposite wall. "There’s like bits of time I’ve lost while they sorted out my medication. The point is I read it and it was like the author had opened up my brain and crawled inside.” Crowley’s voice got faster, as though he was building himself up to take a great jump. “I needed to know about redemption right then, and love being transcendent, and the power of choices. It helped me get my shit together. And it was you, wasn’t it? Who wrote it?”

“Me?” All thoughts of Effie forgotten, Aziraphale took the wine bottle and gratefully brought it to his lips. This was not a conversation he’d been prepared for, and he wanted to hold Crowley so badly it ached.

“Like the themes and the style, and your characters can just be so…lost and optimistic, and complete bastards. Like nobody is quite what you think they are. Nuanced. Like you. And Earnest Worthing? Hardly subtle when I thought about it. Not for a man who collects Oscar Wilde editions. Fancied a bit of bunburying, did you?” Crowley grinned lopsidedly.

Aziraphale kept a tight hold on the bottle. It was a solid comfort against the pit opening up underneath him. “I thought you didn’t read books.”

“Not. The. Point.  _ Importance of Being Earnest _ is a play and I’m an actor. So, E. Worthing. Confess. That book meant a great deal to me. Please, put me out of my misery.” Crowley’s head rested against the wall, and he left it there as he looked at Aziraphale.

He still wore those blasted glasses and Aziraphale itched to snatch them off. It wasn’t fair Crowley wearing them when he felt so exposed.

Aziraphale drank some more wine. His heart was unfurling, new wings beating against his ribs. He was terrified.

“I wrote it just after Pepper was born,” he croaked.

It was the first time Aziraphale had seen Crowley smile genuinely and it was glorious. Oh dear, God there were dimples. He wanted to stroke the pads of his thumb over them before they vanished. “I’m glad you liked it. Really quite glad.” More wine. Yes. A good idea, that.

“Liked it?” Crowley laughed dryly. “Helped kick me back to sanity. I mean, drugs and therapy did a lot of it, but that book made me want to try in the first place. You don’t look pleased about that.”

“I am. It’s just, I mean it was a difficult book for me.”

“Oh?”

It was an open invitation without any pressure. Aziraphale could step back from this edge, lock his heart back up and Crowley would respect that. Aziraphale’s fingers knotted together around the bottle. He wanted to talk though, wanted to be known, if only for a moment. And where was the harm if it would all be over tomorrow anyway?

The children were found, he’d take the blame and it’d be better for Crowley if they never saw each other again.

Aziraphale took a breath and didn’t look up.

“I wrote it because, well, I wasn’t in a very good place. I love Pepper, please don’t doubt that, but there were times when I'd been up all night with her. Effie was back at work, which was a mutual decision, but it meant she couldn’t help. I was very alone. I did a fair bit of crying too, if I’m honest.” Back against the bathroom door, or hands gripping the kitchen counter. All that emotion had to go somewhere so he’d carved words out of every precious minute before he ceased to exist. The terror of vanishing had been real when the rest of the world was sleeping. “I had too many feelings that no one was hearing. I felt evanescent, like a ghost. It was inevitable I would start writing about them really. I’m glad it found an appreciative audience. Truly.”

Crowley had gone very still. His face still turned to Aziraphale, wine dark lips pressed together. “Why not use your own name?”

“I couldn’t. It was too personal, and I didn’t want Effie to know. Not when things had started to collapse between us. Not with her career just taking off. Last thing she needed was her soon to be ex-husband writing a homoerotic Victorian ghost story about how stupid and self-pitying he was.”

“You’re not a ghost,” Crowley’s voice was firm. He took the wine bottle and placed it on the bed side table.

“No?” It hadn’t been so bad, laying himself out like that. Like ripping off a plaster really. Burning down the whole bloody forest so it could grow again, better, from scratch.

“Ghosts don’t drink so much.” Crowley grinned. “Don’t bitch so much either.”

Aziraphale smacked at Crowley’s upper arm so he could ignore the lump forming in his throat.

Crowley caught Aziraphale’s wrist. His thumb lingered on the underside, stroking gently, almost absently. “Ghosts aren’t so much fun to kiss.”

“Oh, really now.” Aziraphale glanced at his knees. He couldn’t maintain eye contact, even with the barrier of Crowley’s glasses between them.

The fingers of Crowley’s free hand touched Aziraphale’s jaw and guided his face back. “Hey, I see you. You’re not a ghost.”

Time thickened, rolling slowly to a stop. This moment right here, with Crowley’s fingers against him and Crowley’s attention on him, was worth living in. Despite all evidence to the contrary Aziraphale had not mucked things up. There was still time, of course, but right now he wanted to let Crowley know he was seen too.

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s glasses, waiting for the near imperceptible nod of consent before he slid them off. “You're good and kind, and so patient.”

Crowley’s breath caught and his pupils, when they were revealed, were dilated. He was stunning. Aziraphale leaned in. He was caught between flying and falling, giddy with his own bravery. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the slow slide of lips and then tongues, Crowley’s hum of pleasure. 

“You can’t just say things like that to me without there being consequences.” Crowley's fingers stroked his cheek. The weight of his hand rested on the back of Aziraphale's neck. 

“Oh, consequences?” They were still so close and it was good, so very good, but not close enough. “You’re thoughtful.” Aziraphale kissed the tip of Crowley's nose. “And so incredibly…”

“That’s it. Come here.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale forward, half lifting him so he could straddle Crowley’s lap.

“Nice.” Aziraphale got his hands in Crowley’s hair, kissing away the outraged ‘nice!’ Crowley tried to splutter in protest. It was a thank you kiss, more than anything. A thank you and I like you, and I want you so very badly. And a little bit of goodbye too. The kiss tasted of wine and raced towards urgent. The bruise on Aziraphale’s jaw tingled in protest, but it was something easily ignored as Crowley’s hands slid down his back, coaxing his hips forward.

Aziraphale gasped as they ground together. 

“Alright?” Crowley pulled away slightly, the tips of their noses bumped as they shared breath. Aziraphale kissed him harder. He had stepped off the edge of the precipice now. He shifted closer. There was nothing but their underwear between them. 

Crowley fumbled at Aziraphale’s shirt buttons. 

Aziraphale stopped his hands. “You don't have to.”

“Have to what?”

Aziraphale sat back. “I mean you're gorgeous and I'm…”

“Also gorgeous.” Crowley frowned.

“What I am.” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered over his stomach.

“Yes, I see and I like what I see.” Crowley nibbled his jaw. “Want to see more, if you’ll let me.” A flicker of tongue on Aziraphale’s neck. “Absolutely every bloody inch. Want to taste every inch. Put my mouth all over you.”

Aziraphale's breath hitched. Very embarrassing, but Crowley’s open mouth was on his shoulder. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been touched with reverence like this, like his body wasn’t more than just a hurried means to an end. Aziraphale released Crowley’s hands and reached for his shirtfront. “ _ All _ over me?” Aziraphale’s voice shook. He didn’t dare believe it, but the thought that it might be true made his heart thump faster.

Crowley dragged him back in for another kiss. “All over you.”

Despite his best efforts, Aziraphale had already fallen. Didn’t care. He was fucked anyway. Or at least, he hoped he very soon would be.

Crowley knew he'd fallen too hard and too fast. Even with Aziraphale beneath him he was still adrift. He held on tight to hair and hips. Clung with his lips as they made out like teenagers on a parent's sofa.

Except more horizontal, and entirely naked. 

The slide of their bodies was tethering too. Crowley pressed closer, increasing the friction between them. Neither of them were rushing. There’d been no ripped seams, no buttons pinging off under the bed. And that was despite Crowley being half ready to shiver out of his skin with need. Aziraphale had even got up to hang both their shirts on the back of the chair to stop them creasing. Crowley hadn’t even thought to tease him, he’d just taken his time to appreciate the view, and how the shirts had looked together. Black half sheltered by pale blue. 

He was too old to be feeling this fuzzy lightness at his edges. To be this aroused by Aziraphale hooking his leg around his waist, begging with each roll of hips. 

"Want something, angel?" Crowley loved the rose-pink Aziraphale went when he called him angel. Couldn’t resist it. “You only have to ask.” 

_ I’ll give you anything you want.  _ The words weighed on his tongue and he pressed his mouth to the flush of Aziraphale’s throat until they'd been swallowed back down. 

Aziraphale huffed. He kissed Crowley’s ear and whispered, "I think I’d like you..inside me, please.”

"Well, I  _ think _ I could manage that. As you asked so prettily.” Crowley smiled.

"Oh, my hero." Aziraphale tried to sound put out, but the flush coloured his collarbone now too. 

Crowley laughed. Couldn't help it. When was the last time he'd been comfortable enough during sex? Or were they making love now? Been even longer since he'd done that, wasn’t sure he could discern the difference anymore. What he could do was run his fingertips along Aziraphale’s bottom lip,

Aziraphale took Crowley’s fingers into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue over them.

Crowley’s memories skittered straight back to being pressed against a door in a Premier Inn. The angel was about as filthy as his writing promised. And the noises he made when Crowley got his slick hand between Aziraphale’s legs and worked a finger into him were decadent. Gasps, and sighs, and  _ oh just like thats. _

Crowley was going to die of arousal. Or embarrassment when he came without being touched.

"Don't move." He wriggled quickly to the side of the bed and grabbed his wallet off the bedside table. He fumbled with the leather. Bank card. Drivers licence. Yes. Lube. Condom. 

Aziraphale pressed against his back, an arm sliding round his waist and the delicious rasp of stubble on the back of his neck.

"Told you not to move." But Crowley leaned back, just the same. Tilted his neck so Aziraphale could taste his shoulder.

"Did you know you have freckles?" 

"Don't,” Crowley grumbled. He didn't resist as the lube was plucked from his hand.

Aziraphale’s mouth left his neck. Plastic ripped. Damn, he’d opened it with his teeth.

Crowley’s brain descended into a hot fug. Aziraphale moaned quietly, breath coasting across Crowley’s ear. He was back there preparing himself, shamelessly frotting against Crowley’s backside. Crowley pushed back against him, desire coiling and tightening deep in his stomach. Aziraphale’s nails scraped over Crowley’s chest, down to his thigh. Crowley’s hips bucked forward against nothing.

“If you want something…” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley still held the condom. He managed to get it open, and on, despite his fingers feeling too long and loose. He groaned at the touch of his own hand. “Any more lube there, angel?”

Crowley was reaching back for the packet when Aziraphale’s slick hand curled around his cock, lazily smearing the lubricant over him.

Crowley bit at the inside of his cheek. Tried to think of ice and tax returns. It was a relief when Aziraphale released him, moving back across the bed. Crowley took a deep breath, half turning so he could see Aziraphale lying back wiggling one of those ridiculous cushions under his hips.

Aziraphale held out his hand, beckoning Crowley over. 

It was embarrassing how quickly Crowley scrambled towards him. He slithered over the bed on elbows and knees, and up Aziraphale’s body. He kissed Aziraphale hard, bit at that plump bottom lip while he worked his hand between Airaphale’s thighs.

“Don’t –ah –trust me?”

"Just want to feel you again. You feel good." 

"Please, darling, don’t tease."

“Hardly one to talk, are you?” Crowley slid a hand behind Aziraphale’s knee, lifting his leg and pushing in as slow and smooth as he could. The initial discomfort gave way to the tantalising hot drag of skin against skin. Aziraphale’s fingers dug into Crowley’s shoulder, he worked his leg up higher. Crowley went gentle at first, brushing kisses over Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders until he felt the tension in him ease.

“Oh -you’re - that’s -” Aziraphale wriggled, his breath going shallow as he took Crowley inside him.

"It's good?" Crowley sounded needy as hell but he wanted it to be good. Wanted it to be bloody amazing. 

"Perfect. You’re perfect. Are you -?” 

Crowley nodded. How could he even ask that? It's so good he'd got no bloody words left. He’d had plans of making it romantic. He could vaguely remember how to do that. Could act it anyway. When Aziraphale’s hips jerked up to meet him, saying Crowley’s name in breathless bursts of sound Crowley was done for. He melted into a desperate mess of heat and want.

Aziraphale used his nails and Crowley knew, hoped, there’d be marks on his back. He wanted proof this was real. Aziraphale was a bloody vision like this, damp curls stuck to his forehead, one hand braced against the headboard while desperation built in his grey-green eyes.

Crowley wanted to bottle it. Wear it next to his skin for the rest of his miserable little life. He snaked a hand between them, finding Aziraphale’s cock, thick and damp with need. Aziraphale bucked against him. He put his hand over Crowley’s, guiding it away.

"No. Just like this."

“You can come like this?”

“If you don’t stop.”

Crowley kissed the bruised knuckles, pushed Aziraphale's hand down on the bed. Fingers linked. Crowley didn't want to let go. 

Aziraphale’s body clutched at him, the dampness of sweat where their skin slid together. Crowley pushed in deeper, harder, and Aziraphale pressed back, breath coming in staccato gasps, all traces of self-conscious fussiness gone. Crowley wanted to laugh with pleasure, but couldn’t catch his breath. Aziraphale’s moans turned to gasps, turned to Crowley’s name as he came apart.

Crowley slammed his hips forward. The way Aziraphale looked at him, raw and wide eyed, was going to finish him. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, holding back the terrifying words pushing for release.

Aziraphale’s palms were on Crowley’s cheeks, dragging him down so he could kiss him through his own orgasm. Crowley’s sure the world had gone white for a moment. He came back to himself all limp and uncentred with Aziraphale still kissing him, murmuring, "You're beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful thing. Freckles and all."

Crowley laughed, his forehead resting against Aziraphale’s. He nearly believed it. Wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that Aziraphale wasn’t just talking about his body, but all of him. That Aziraphale really did see him and could shine light into all the shadowed parts of him.

This was making love, wasn’t it? Surely just sex wouldn’t leave you feeling so much. He was really too old for this.


	14. Let it All Hang Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. The author apologises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Fat Bottomed Girls. 
> 
> Crowley quotes Pride and Prejudice (He saw the film, ok? stop asking about it already)
> 
> Have I mentioned how much I appreciate you all?

**Tadfield**

**Friday 29th May**

**One day until the end of the world.**

It turned out there was something in the world better than Aziraphale crying Crowley’s name in pleasure. Turned out Aziraphale sated and sleeping next to him did soft, fluttery things to Crowley’s heart that were impossible to ignore. He’d never thought of himself as a cuddler, but Crowley had to tuck his hands beneath his cheek to stop from touching. He wanted to smooth down the tufts of Aziraphale's hair and trace the turned up end of his nose.

He was smitten. No denying it now really. Pathetic, that’s what it was. Still, may as well go all in.

“I cannot fix the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which laid the foundation. It was too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” The words were secrets, whispered into the early morning light. Crowley rolled onto his back, arm thrown over his eyes. It had rained last night and the last dregs of it still pattered against the window. “Yes, angel," he sighed, "I read books. What you going to do about it?”

Aziraphale’s slow, steady breathing didn’t change. Crowley peeked at him.

So, no denying he was smitten. 

It was Aziraphale’s own fault. Why had he gone and called his ex-wife like that? Probably the sensible thing to do, but taking the blame for the whole mess was unnecessary. Unasked for. Crowley hadn’t liked the way it had made the world around him tilt dangerously. People didn’t just do things like that for Anthony J. Crowley, daft and misguided as it was. 

Lucille had already deployed Hastur and Ligur. She’d already decided on the military school so the game was up for him and Adam anyway.

Stupid, angel.

Crowley shifted back to his side, letting his gaze go all the places he wouldn’t let himself touch.

He could still give Aziraphale a chance to keep his daughter. If Crowley got to Elysium first, if he spoke to Effie…she must know what a cream puff Aziraphale was, she’d know he’d been lying to protect Crowley. And Crowley could convince her even if she didn’t know it. He was an actor! bloody BAFTA nominee! 

The idea of what the media would do if this fiasco got out made Crowley's stomach tumble over, but he knew he could deal with it. He’d dealt with worse. And whatever else Lucille did, she’d shield Adam. Admittedly more for family image than any concern for Adam’s well being, but the end result would still be protecting Adam so Crowley would take it. Gladly.

Decision made Crowley allowed himself a few more moments to luxuriate in morning after comfort then carefully edged himself out of bed. He had a theoretical plan, now he just needed to find a way to make it real. He tiptoed to the bathroom to get some water. Aziraphale’s phone and wallet were arranged neatly on the bedside table.

Aziraphale didn’t have a lock on his phone. Crowley found Pepper’s number and retrieved his own phone from where it had been kicked under the bed. He entered Pepper’s number and added it to the tracing app. Just in case. 

He trusted those two little hooligans about as far as he could throw them.

Crowley began to gather his clothes with all the stealth of a very uncomfortable burglar. 

Aziraphale rolled over, hugging the pillow close to his face.

Crowley froze.

Aziraphale sighed and settled. 

“You can’t follow me, angel.” Crowley whispered. “No more self-sacrificing.”

He wasn’t proud of what he did next. As Crowley tiptoed to the door in socked feet, his shoes and Aziraphale’s clothes bundled under his arm he tried to convince himself this was for the best. 

The greater good.

It’d all be over on Saturday anyway.

Aziraphale drifted into wakefulness. He floated in a comfy cloud of bliss for all of five seconds before reality wormed its way back in. Best just get up and face today as well he could. He allowed himself just a moment to indulge, turning his head to see Crowley. 

Crowley was gone. The covers were a mess and there was a depression in the pillow, but otherwise nothing. Not even sounds from the bathroom.

Aziraphale tried to sit up. He couldn't. 

Ice cold panic swept down his spine.

He was naked and tied to the bed. Crowley had gone. So had Aziraphale's wallet and clothes, except his braces which had been used to tether his wrists to the headboard. Struggling, biting and swearing did nothing to loosen them. If anything it just got him more tangled up with the majority of the sheets kicked to the floor.

At eight thirty there was a knock on the door and a cheery shout of, “Housekeeping!”

"Busy!" Aziraphale gasped back, torn between hope of rescue and fear of discovery. Really though, his wrists were starting to chafe. 

Marjorie Potts poked her head round the door. Her carefully plucked eyebrows lifted as her eyes took in the scene. "Well, Mr Aziraphale! Your gentleman friend said you were all tied up. I didn't realise he was such a wit!" Her mouth twitched.

"I’m terribly sorry about all this.” With his bound hands Aziraphale tried a gesture that encompassed the tumbled sheets and his own rather chilly predicament.

Ms Potts came in and shut the door. She held herself with the bearing of a woman who knew exactly how long it took to wiggle into a leather pinny and did not bother to avert her gaze over much. “Oh, don't you worry Mr Aziraphale, I've seen worse. I mean I’ve also seen better, but the view’s not that bad."

"Really! Madam!" Oh Lord, now he was blushing.

Ms Potts cackled as she swept the sheets off the floor and over Aziraphale’s hips. She folded her arms. “Now then, seeing as we're both not so distracted perhaps you can tell me what’s going on. Then maybe I’ll untie you. Maybe. I’m all for embracing new kinks, but this is a respectable establishment.” She paused, considering. “Most of the time.”

Crowley parked in a passing bay on a country lane crowded with trees. It looked exactly like every other country lane he'd driven down in the last half hour. 

The Bentley’s engine went pink, pink as it cooled. Crowley’s temper was heating up. Every single bloody road around here was a single lane and trees, and squirrels with a death wish. The last sign post had blown down and there was no bloody phone signal. 

He wanted Aziraphale with him. Aziraphale should have been here. It was a deep, gnawing knowledge in his guts. Aziraphale should have been here being smug and judgemental and…

Crowley was careening towards the ‘L” word with terrifying speed. At least he thought he was, could just be last night's wine working it's way out of his system. Didn’t know what love felt like, did he?

Crowley turned on the Bentley’s engine and began to drive. 

There was a whirr, a scream and a clunk. 

Crowley stopped the car.

He’d hit someone.

“Someone hit me!” he amended, for the benefit of the tweeting birds.

It all had a familiar feel to it. And a deep seated not-quite-rightness. Crowley got out of the car on shaky legs. A bicycle lay in the verge, front wheel spinning at the sky.

“You alright?” Crowley croaked.

“Course I’m not alright, you asshole!” The woman sat up and wrestled her glasses back on. There were leaves in her hair. “Could have broken my arm.”

“Did you?” 

She inspected her limb. “No.”

“You don’t sound pleased.” 

“Are you going to help me up?”

Crowley’s first instinct was to check the Bentley’s paint work and then drive away as quickly as possible. He could imagine what Aziraphale would say to that. Crowley had a horrible suspicion that he would spend the rest of his life with a phantom Aziraphale peering over his shoulder, encouraging him to be a better person just by existing.

He helped the annoying American woman up. Their hands touched. The world fizzed.

She looked around accusingly. “You’re alone.”

“Well spotted.”

She frowned at him with an intensity that was downright unnerving. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Crowley snatched his hand back. This didn’t make the weirdness dissipate at all. “Er, thanks. I mean no one deserves to be alone, do they? Is there someone I can call for you? In case you’re you know…?” He waved his fingers round his head. _Clinically insane._

The woman stepped forward, chin tilted up as she searched his face. Crowley was starting to feel uncomfortably exposed. “It’s ok. He’ll find you. You always find each other.” The woman blinked, withdrew back into her own space. “Did I just say something?” she asked urgently.

“Nothing relevant,” Crowley muttered. “Look if you are ok, I’m searching for my son…”

The woman's frown lifted. “You’re Adam’s dad?” Her eyes lit up. This was more concerning than the intensity. 

“That’s what’s on his birth certificate, " Crowley said carefully. He had the distinct impression lying to this woman would not be successful. 

“No, you are Adam’s dad.” She put a hand to her forehead. “Sorry. I need realities to untangle themselves for a minute. Yep. You need to go that way to the air base. No, wait. No. Other way, up the hill. Big art deco house up where Tadfield Manor used to be. It’s called Elysium now.”

“Thanks. Sure you’re ok? You don’t want me to call anyone?” Crowley backed away, oh so slowly. 

“Yes, remarkably resilient, these old machines.” She heaved her velocipede upright and wheeled it onto the road. 

Crowley blinked. Velocipede. Right. “Well, if you’re sure.” He wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this mad woman and this sinister country lane as possible. 

“Oh, yes. Very. I can go back to normal a bit now. About damn time.” She laughed. It scared a couple of magpies out of the trees. 

“Right.” Crowley was neatly at the Bentley. Just a bit further. Don't startle the mad woman. 

“You don’t have to be alone, Crowley.” She smiled. It was terrifying.

Despite just taking part in a collision, Crowley drove away very quickly. Nothing strange about that encounter at all. Nope, Of course she’d recognised him. He wasn’t wearing his baseball cap. 

**Elysium**

**Friday 29th May**

**One day until the end of the world.**

Pepper was not happy. She sat cross-legged on the unfamiliar bed, glaring at the unfamiliar nightdress that had been supplied for her. It was white. Like the rest of the house. Understated and obnoxiously fashionable, but nearly clinical in its minimalism. It was the sort of thing a heroine might wear as she stumbled out of the woods and up to the steps of the haunted castle. 

Pepper had not worn it last night. She’d stayed awake, lying on top of the sheets in her own clothes as the rain hammered down.

For the first time she could truly appreciate why her dad felt it so hard to resist her mother’s will. She ran a thumb over her phone, smearing the screen above the words her dad had text her back. 

She hadn’t even been sure what she was sorry for. There was so much to choose from. At least he was alright. That was the main thing, and hopefully he was still with Mr Crowley and they were talking, or drinking or whatever it was they needed to do to sort themselves out. 

If they weren't. Well, she might just start screaming and never stop.

There was a tentative knock on the door, and Adam’s tousled blond head peeped round the corner. “Your mum is scary,” he whispered.

Pepper was so happy to see him she didn’t even protest. “Yes, she is. Come in.”

Her mother had sent Matt to pick them up yesterday. She had made the time to meet them briefly when they’d arrived in the big hallway with its sweeping double staircase. She’d not been angry, not obviously so, but she had looked at Pepper and briefly closed her eyes as though counting to ten. When her mother was composed again she'd swept forward in her sensible heels and gathered Pepper into a swift almost bone breaking hug. Then she'd got down on her knees so she could look Pepper straight in the eyes and said, “honestly, what were you thinking? Your father was terrified.”

Which was quite possibly the worst thing she could have said to Pepper right then. 

“This never would have happened if you’d been living with me.”

No, that was the worst thing.

Before Pepper had started yelling, her and Adam had been handed off to the housekeeper, washed, fed, and then tucked conveniently out of the way until they were required. There had been no opportunity to explain, or be heard at all.

Pepper looked at her dad’s message again, then back at Adam. Her heart weighed her down. She didn’t want to stay here in this impersonal, uncluttered world. She didn't belong here.

“I’m leaving.” Pepper swung her feet off the bed and on to the rug.

“What?” Adam started. “We just got here.”

“Yes, and you get to go home," Pepper snapped. 

“I get to go to Scotland. To military school.” Adam folded his arms. 

Pepper crossed the room so she could open the window. She stuck her head out into the rain fresh air looking for clarity. There was no point arguing over who's future would be bleakest. Not when something could still be done about it. “You don’t have to come with me.”

There was a balcony below the window, and a lawn below that. The ground would be nice and softly-damp.

“Pepper.” Adam stood behind her, touching her elbow. “It’s over.”

She pulled away from him. “No, it’s not. I am not staying here. Not without a chance to tell dad I’m sorry properly.” She swallowed around the tightness in her throat, but she wouldn’t waver now. “Sorry for, for everything. Not without telling him that I don’t want to live here.”

“He’ll be here later," Adam said softly.

_ This never would have happened if you’d been living with me. _

Ha! Pepper would show her!

“We can’t talk in this place. No, I’m going to find him and we’re going to make a plan so that we can stay together.”

“Fine.” Adam went over to the bed and pulled off the sheets. He began knotting the ends together.

“What are you doing?” 

“You aren’t going to get far without me, are you?”

The rain washed world got suddenly brighter. Pepper grinned at him. It was very much not over. 


	15. Everybody Play the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pawns are moved into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A minor content warning for the archangels and Metatron being mean about Aziraphale. As you'd expect. 
> 
> Chapter title from Play the Game

**Elysium**

**Friday 29th May**

**9.06am**

**One day until the end of the world.**

Michael had been in the game long enough to know that she had a good job. Generous benefits, ok co-workers and enough wiggle room to use her own initiative. Yes, it was a good job, even if sometimes her boss did move in mysterious ways.

“There.” Uriel tapped the screen where the two runaways were running away again. They scurried across the perfectly kept lawn, heads down and ducking behind every box hedge they came to. Cute.

The angel’s nest was at the top of the Art Deco mansion’s central tower. It was as white and bright, either due to strip lights or the sunlight coming in through the dome in the roof, depending on what shift you were working.

The window had to be in the roof because all the walls were stacked with desks and computers. The live screens currently showed locations around the house and property. Michael’s boss liked to know what was going on. It was why She was so good at Her job, although Michael still wasn’t entirely sure she knew the entirety of what that job entailed. There were the conferences and diplomatic visits, and the expected daily grind of a politician. And then there were the grey areas that involved meetings with no minutes being recorded, some of which would take place unexpectedly in the back of the company car with worried looking men in sunglasses, who occasionally left unremarkable looking briefcases on the back seat.

Still, as long as Michael didn’t ask too many questions, or look too closely at the redacted paperwork, it was a good job.

Michael sat in the chair next to Uriel and sipped her coffee. It was good coffee. An above average coffee machine was also a perk of the job. “Bed sheets.” She tutted at the screen showing the makeshift rope. “No points for originality.”

“Points for sheer cheek though,” Uriel muttered. She sat back and stretched. “And we’re just letting them go?”

“For now.”

Uriel frowned, but knew better than to press the issue. 

Mysterious ways, and all that.

The children didn’t have to run away after all. Just because they’d been given a room with a large, easily opened window and queen sized bed sheets. If they did choose to run though, well, that was just an opportunity that was too good for Herself to waste.

Especially if the men pursuing them were who they sounded like.

Not that Michael had a great deal of time for Herself’s ex-husband, but he was observant.

The runaways made it to the trees. 

“Sandalphon,” Michael said into her ear piece. “Do you have a visual? They’re heading east towards the cascade.”

When Sandalphon had called in his confirmation, Michael got on the phone to Matt. She didn’t like having the smooth-suited pen pusher messing about in her control room, but he was the most direct route to contacting Herself, and if this went wrong She would need to know about it.

**9.20am**

Michael was on her second cup of coffee.

The children were making good time. Sandalphon and his team had been tracking them towards the property boundary by the river. There were some big old willow trees there, easy climbing if you were light enough. And if you were agile enough you could get over the fence into the neighbouring Hogback Woods.

That’s what her plan would be, were she still eleven and obnoxious. That route was far easier than trying to get in along the boundaries that fronted the road.

Not everyone had Michael’s smarts though. This idiot, for example, who had just parked his vintage car on the verge of a side road and was trying to climb the wire fence.

“What the…” Uriel turned the camera a bit more. She leaned forward over her pristinely clean work station. “That’s not the boyfriend with the dark glasses, is it?”

Michael nearly snorted her coffee. “Idiocy attracts idiocy.”

The boyfriend in the dark glasses was most of the way up the fence, his jacket gripped between his teeth. At some stage he would probably try and throw it over the top of the fence to make it easier to climb over the spiky bits. 

Michael leaned back in her chair, resting an ankle on her opposite knee. Best get comfy. This was going to be good.

“Holy cow!” Matt swarmed into Michael’s space, his own cup of coffee spilled on Uriel’s sleeve. She pointedly plucked a tissue from the box on her desk and began to mop up.

Michael was less subtle. She glared at Matt, digging an elbow into his ribs. 

Matt was too far gone. “That really is Anthony Crowley. How on earth did Her beige sofa cushion of an ex-husband pull Anthony Crowley?”

“Good Heavens, keep it together, Matt. I’m not sure that he has yet,” Michael wheeled her chair out of the splatter zone of Matt’s coffee cup. “Not if he's here by himself.”

“You could hardly imagine the sofa cushion climbing a fence,” Matt said with disgust.

“I don’t think Crowley’s doing that well either,” Uriel remarked.

Crowley had got his coat over the spiky bits of the fence. He was poised just next to it, presumably working up the courage to swing his leg over the top.

“Get on with it,” Uriel snapped.

Michael prized her as a co-worker for both her efficiency, and the ruthlessness with which she deployed it. 

Crowley got on with it.

There was a flurry of limbs on the camera, most pointing skyward. For a moment Crowley was suspended on the fence, then presumably whatever fabric had got caught ripped and he plummeted to the ground, landing on his back on the inside. 

“That’s going to hurt,” Michael winced in feigned sympathy. 

"Should we call an ambulance?" Matt gasped form behind the hand covering his mouth.

“He’s getting up.” Uriel remarked. “Like a cat that’s just jumped for a window sill and missed.”

Crowley was dusting himself down. He was only limping slightly as he made his way into the trees, face glued to his phone screen.

“Sandalphon,” Michael said to her ear piece. “You have company. No, not the company we were expecting. Anthony J Crowley has just started trespassing. Yes, the actor.”

“Bring him to the house,” Matt said eagerly.

Michael made no effort to hide the disdain on her face as she glanced at Uriel. Uriel merely rolled her eyes and kept quiet. 

“What? Part of my role is to manage celebrity endorsements.” Matt’s lifted chin dared them to disagree.

“And what exactly would you be expecting him to endorse?” Uriel muttered.

**9.40am**

They’d lost sight of Crowley, much to Matt’s distress, and much to Michael’s distress as he would not shut up about it. Still, celebrities who had recently made a comeback were not their priority. Neither was irritating middle management who were really too old to be crushing on them. The important matters at hand were that Sandalphon still had eyes on the children who were now walking along the river, following it up towards the fence. All of these things placed on the list below her third cup of coffee.

Say what you liked about Sandalphon and his enthusiasm for the more questionable moral tasks Herself sometimes required, at least he was single minded in carrying them out to perfection.

“Are the cars ready?” Michael asked. It’d be harder to keep an eye on the children when they left the property boundary, but that didn’t mean she was going to give up easily.

The front gate buzzed.

Uriel called up the screen.

“I can’t believe he pulled Anthony Crowley,” Matt groaned.

The ex-husband peered nervously into the camera. He was wearing what appeared to be a giant brightly coloured geometric kaftan, and holding the handlebars of a scooter. There was a sunflower on his helmet. He pressed the buzzer again for an irritatingly long time.

Matt pressed the intercom. “What?”

“I believe I’m expected,” Aziraphale said primly.

“Nothing about you is expected,” Matt murmured. “Look, we’re all right in the middle of something here.”

“Stop flirting and let him in,” Michael snapped.

“How else are you going to learn the secret of his celebrity sex appeal?” asked Uriel.

Matt spluttered coffee over her desk. This time she snatched up the tissue box and thrust it in his face.

“Just let him in,” Michael repeated. “What are you? Twelve?”

Matt began to protest. Michael was saved by Uriel leaning forward and flicking through the cameras that covered the northern boundary of the property.

“Wait. I’ve got something!” Uriel zoomed in on the two men. The one in the rain coat was keeping watch, the sullen one was using bolt cutters on the fence.

Michael reluctantly put down her coffee. “That’s rude.”

“Definitely them though.” Uriel slid her chair along the row of desks and called up mug shots of the men they’d been waiting for on a different screen. She began to scroll through documents on another screen beneath them. “Aren't they a pair of naughty boys.”

“Get Her down here,” Michael said. “Sandalphon are you and the children still by the cascade? Our guests have arrived and they’re heading your way.”

“The Cascade? Guests? Will someone tell me what’s going on!?” Aziraphale’s voice cut off as Matt snatched his finger back from the intercom.

It started buzzing again, immediately and persistently.

“Michael,” Sandalphon’s urgent voice buzzed in her ear. “We’ve lost visual on the kids.”

“Shit”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Michael liked her job. It was a good job. She just wished her boss didn’t move so quietly.

Herself stood quietly behind Michael’s chair, those calm, too perceptive eyes sweeping over the computer screens. Didn’t matter how long She’d been standing there, She probably already knew everything that was happening anyway. 

“Aziraphale made it, I see.” The expression on her face was equal parts fond and exasperated.

Matt wilted out of Herself’s way as She answered the front gate’s intercom. “Az, We’re going to buzz you in. Go on up to the house.”

“Effie, what’s going on?” Aziraphale’s voice edged closer to hysteria with every syllable.

She smiled. “Go up to the house please, Az. It’s all under control.”

“Really, I am not a child…”

Effie cut him off. “Uriel.”

Uriel opened the gate.

On the screen, Aziraphale had a distinct pout to his bottom lip.

Michael didn’t even bother to point out that the dippy ex-husband was not going to do as he’d been told. Judging by Herself’s smile She knew that too. She was probably counting on it.


	16. Hold on Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action hots up but everyone gets cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Misfire.
> 
> Thank you to all the commenter, bookmakers, kudos givers and lurkers. I really appreciate all of you.

**Grounds of Elysium**

**Friday 29th May**

**One day until the end of the world.**

Pepper peered down from the oak tree at the the security guards in their crisp white uniforms. They drifted through the bracken below on their way back to the house. Really, it had been too easy. “Told you we were being followed,” she whispered.

The woods on the edge of Elysium's property were dense with undergrowth and riddled with thick-limbed trees that were perfect for climbing. In her younger years Pepper had escaped many the diplomatic dinner and elocution lesson by shimming up one with a good book and waiting it out. 

This particular oak tree was gnarled and twisted, branches curling out from the trunk providing enough places for a small enough bottom to rest, and enough cover that anyone looking up would need to peer very closely to see anyone hiding. Perched amidst the leaves Pepper and Adam were tucked in their own bubble of green, slightly moist silence. The tree itself wasn’t too wet, but the bracken dragging at their jeans had meant that they were both soggier than they would have liked. 

Pepper wondered whether it would be best just to stay put until her dad turned up. The damp was leeching away her anger with every passing second.

“Your mum is more insane than my Gramma,” Adam muttered. “Why does she have an army?” He was perched just below Pepper, arms hugging his ribs. 

“You scared?” Pepper asked, although she did feel that the guns the guards had been carrying seemed rather excessive for finding two eleven year olds. 

“No,” Adam lied. 

Pepper wasn’t scared either. Not of mum’s employees at any rate. She had been assessing the river though. It was swollen with last night’s rain, and the smooth rocks that enabled the crossing barely peeked out of the top of the torrent. Pepper was sure she had seen it worse, she was just having a hard time remembering exactly when.

The security guard with the balding head and the smarmy face spoke into his crackling headset. His eyes continued to scan the woods. His head set crackled back and very slowly he moved out of view. 

Pepper and Adam sat in silence waiting for the bird song to return, then slithered down from the tree. Pepper wiped her damp hands on the front of her jeans. They needed to get up on the rocks to cross the river and then get a good grip on the willow branches overhanging the opposite bank. It was an easy climb, she’d done it before. Everything being so wet would just mean she needed to be more careful.

“Ready?” Pepper hoisted her back pack on to her shoulders and edged to the river. The first rock was just an easy step down. Wide and flat. They could both fit on it with room to spare. The next was a bit more of a jump, but she’d done it before. And with much shorter legs. It wasn’t  _ that _ far, It wasn’t that far overall. A couple of metres across the river from bank to bank. Standing so close though, hearing the rushing of the water as it tumbled along, and seeing the depth of it after the rain made her stomach flip. If they did fall in would they be able to stand up?

Adam’s breath was ragged next to hers. “We could just hide out, go back for lunch. I reckon we will have made our point by then.”

“Dad’s sure to be here for lunch,” Pepper reasoned. “He helped me build dens out here one summer too. If we were missing it’d be the first place he'd look.”

Adam nodded slowly. “Yeah, we could maybe wait it out. Let them catch us in the act. Talk us back home, that’d show your mum how good your dad is.”

Pepper mulled this over. She looked down at the rushing river. It wasn’t giving up, it was being sensible. A plan should never be so inflexible that it became ridiculous. As soon as the decision was made she relaxed. “Yeah.” She tried to sound reluctant, but her jeans really were soaked. “You make a good point.”

Adam’s shoulders dropped too. “‘Course I do. Full of good points me.”

They smiled at each other and began to turn back. 

“Oi, antichrist!”

Adam jumped, grabbing at Pepper’s arm. Her trainers slipped slightly on the wet grass, but they managed to pull each other up. Hastur and Ligur had just materialised out of the undergrowth like a couple of pantomime villains. Pepper realised she had never seen a fully fledged leer before. Hastur’s was so full of glee it would give her nightmares for weeks.

“How did they find us?” Pepper hissed.

“It’s not my fault. My phone’s off.” Adam stepped back, right to the edge of the bank where the wet ground began to sink beneath his weight.

“We’re not stupid. We knew who your girlfriend belonged to. And there’s all sorts of skills Ligur picked up in the army.” Hastur cackled.

“Come here, and we’ll take you home.” Ligur smiled like an open grave. He was holding a pair of heavy bolt cutters in one hand, tapping the business end methodically against the palm of his other. Pepper hoped that wasn’t the best he could do playing at good cop.

“We’re fine,” Adam shouted at them. “Besides, you’ll have to catch us first.”

Before Pepper could stop him, he hopped back on to the first rock. The first rock had always been the easiest, but the height of the river meant it was damp with spray. Adam tottered, but steadied himself when he threw his arms out to balance. 

He offered his hand to Pepper. His face was stark with fear, eyes begging her to follow.

Hastur and Ligur were moving forward. Pepper’s stomach churned. She grabbed Adam’s hand and stepped out onto the rock.

“Mad, bloody urchins!” Hastur howled. 

Pepper and Adam balanced together for a moment before Pepper shuffled to the edge of the first rock. From this vantage point it looked like the water was rushing even faster. It made the gap look twice as big as it had last summer. No going back now though. She took a breath and hopped over to the next rock. There was less space here. She’d have to keep going to make room for Adam to follow. She steeled herself, tried to shut out the roar of the water and the yells of the two men on the bank. She jumped.

The landing was off. She stumbled, her own weight pulling her forward. Adam shouted her name, but the rock was big enough that she could land on her hands and knees. The impact jarred, but she scrambled up. “Come on then!” she called to Adam. 

He bit at his lip and followed. 

They were a quarter of the way across now.

Hastur had made it to the first rock, eyeing the water moving around it with mistrust.

“Hey, hey! Leave them be.” Something that looked like the zombie ghost of Adam’s dad stumbled out from the trees. Mr Crowley had lost his jacket and his sunglasses. The knees of his skinny jeans were ripped showing a pair of grazed knees.

“You again!” growled Hastur, turning back. “Can’t you just let us do our job, Crawly?”

Adam’s dad ignored Hastur. He turned a stricken gaze to their perch on the rocks instead. Pepper saw it through his eyes and tried not to feel impetuous, obstinate or any of the other things her own father would chide her with when she was caught. This wasn’t helped by the panicked yell of, “Pippin Galadriel Moonchild-Fell!” as her own father stumbled through the undergrowth looking like an exotic bird. He froze, clearly trying to decide whether the most responsible course of action would be to tell her to come back at once, or to absolutely not move.

This was unfortunate as Pepper could have really done with an adult taking control of her decisions right then.

Adam’s dad stepped back, arm rubbing the back of his neck. “Aziraphale, you found a ride. Nice dress.”

Her own dad flinched. "Crowley! Where…where the devil is my coat?" 

“Oh, for all that’s damned and holy!” Ligur gave the bolt cutters an experimental swing. “Her ladyship won’t mourn you, Crawly…”

“So dramatic!” Crowley chided. 

Ligur lunged forward, swinging the bolt cutters at Mr Crowley’s head.

“No!” Adam stepped forward. His trainer skidded on the wet rock. Pepper got an arm half round his waist as he fell. The world tilted dangerously. Shouts rose over the roar of the swollen river, and for a moment she thought they’d get their balance back.

A gun went off. A loud crack that made her ears pop. There were more people on the bank now. The white blur of the security guard's uniforms and the flash of lights. Then Pepper’s ankle gave and the ice cold river smacked the air from her lungs. 

Her ears and nose filled with it. Adam was pulled from her grasp and she thrashed against the sucking current. Her fingers brushing something solid. She flailed wildly until she had it, dragged her head above water.

“Adam?!” She hauled herself further up the slimy rock.

“Hang on!” Mr Crowley slithered down the bank and into the river. “Don’t you dare let go!”

“Adam!” Pepper scanned the river. Was that an arm? A blond head?

There was movement on the bank accompanied by shouts and another flash of light. The water tugged at her clothes, sucked heat from her fingers. Pepper kicked her legs frantically, toes failing to find purchase against the river bed.

“I see him!” Her dad was still at the top of the bank. He pointed. Then said a word that would have had Pepper grounded for a month. Mr Crowley froze, he shielded his eyes. He said a word that was possibly even worse.

“Go after him!” Pepper shouted. “The cascade is that way. He’ll go over.”

For a moment she thought Mr Crowley would. And as afraid as she was for Adam, Pepper was still really glad when he looked back at her dad. Her dad vanished from the top of the bank and Mr Crowley waded out towards her. 

Aziraphale had never been one for running, which was unfortunate now that he had more than enough motivation. His breath rasped as he pushed his way along the river bank. 

The security guards had all seemed far more concerned with securing Hastur and Ligur though, and he hadn’t wanted to risk losing sight of Adam. 

The boy had managed to get a handful of grass on the opposite bank, giving Aziraphale a chance to get well in front of him before he was whisked away again. Aziraphale clambered down the bank and into the shallower part of the river. Water buffeted his knees, then his thighs as he waded out. Fear pounder at his temples. 

“Adam!”

Adam’s stricken face turned towards him. He began to splash furiously towards Aziraphale. The gap still seemed momentous. Aziraphale was sturdy, but the river was strong. Adam sunk from view, then bobbed back up again. Aziraphale waded out further, feet shifting on the stones on the river bed.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley ran down the bank, a rope looped over his shoulder. The water was up to Aziraphale’s chest now. Oh thank God! He stumbled on something below the surface, nearly went under. His whole body shivered with cold and terror. 

Adam shrieked, stretched out his arms as he was carried past. Aziraphale got a grip on his elbow, which slid down to his wrist as the water continued to pull on him. Pulse leaping furiously, Aziraphale got his other hand on Adam's coat, tried to haul him back. The stones beneath him moved again and the water went over his head. For a moment he was weightless, breathless. His fingers dug into Adam’s arm, not prepared to let go for anything. Then he was being hauled upwards. He gasped air into his lungs.

Crowley had an arm around his chest, the other reaching past him to get a better grip on Adam.

“Find the rope,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nodded, cold hands sifting through the water until he got hold of it.

Crowley had Adam tight against him now. They followed the rope back to the bank, struggling to keep each other upright. They lost the battle when a sobbing Pepper hit them at full speed. Aziraphale landed on the ground with an oomph, sprawling backwards as his limbs tangled with Crowley's

“Sorry,” Pepper hiccupped into Aziraphale's neck, “So sorry.”

Aziraphale didn’t trust himself to speak. His teeth were chattering so hard he wasn’t sure he could. He held on to her with his free arm though, his other hand still fixed on Adam’s wrist. The boy was leaning against him, wedged between him and Crowley. Aziraphale was sure Crowley’s arm was round him too, and when Pepper extended her hug to Adam as well it became an awkward four way embrace.

“Fuck it’s cold,” Crowley snarled.

“F-f-f-,” Adam lifted his head from Pepper’s shoulder. “Five p-pounds.”

“You’ll be bloody lucky, kid.” Crowley said.


	17. Rule With Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An audience with Effie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from All God's People.
> 
> Thank you for all for your kindness. 
> 
> And to [Jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl) for being an amazing beta.

**Elysium**

**Friday 29th May**

**One day until the end of the world.**

Crowley was used to waiting. Auditions, doctor’s appointments, parent’s evenings, interviews. He was used to sitting about at the mercy of someone else’s schedule. The fact that he, Aziraphale and the kids were all wearing very little more than huge fluffy white dressing gowns didn’t improve his calm though. 

The stuck up suit wasn’t helping either. He kept bustling over with a gleam in his eye to ask Crowley if he wanted anything, before slinking back to the walnut desk in front of the huge windows where he pretended that he wasn’t eyeing up Crowley’s naked ankles. Crowley kept his knees very firmly together and tried not to glare. Crowley tried not to subject Aziraphale's legs to the same lecherous scrutiny. 

A couple of the white uniformed security types were still hanging about, too. They’d perfected casual loitering to a fine art form, unintrusive but definitely very present as Crowley and Adam had been shown to the rooms where they would apparently stay tonight, and pointed in the direction of hot showers and tea. Their continuing presence was not reassuring. It was making Crowley want to gnaw on his cuticles. 

He focused on the scenery. All high ceilings and Art Deco windows. The neat little sofa with curved arms like clouds was also white. He was surprised all four of them had managed to squeeze on to it, but there had been a general, unspoken agreement that no one was letting go of anyone unless they absolutely had to. The heat of Azirpahale’s thigh against his was calming, as was the weight of Adam on his lap. The latter also stopped his leg jiggling with nerves. Just because Crowley was used to waiting didn’t mean it ever got any easier.

And he'd left Aziraphale tied to the bed this morning. The betrayal on the angel's face when he'd first appeared in the woods made Crowley feel sick. 

Like all plans made and executed at five in the morning, the harsh light of day gave Crowley a whole new perspective on them. Never thought things through, that was his problem. One of his problems. His fingers knotted his dressing gown chord. This was why Anthony J. Crowley shouldn't have feelings. Pesky things overrode his brain every time. 

Just had to keep it together a bit longer. Speak to Aziraphale. Try and explain… 

“What is it your ex-wife does for the government?” Crowley whispered, needy for any hint that Aziraphale might still want to talk to him. 

“I've never been brave enough to ask,” Aziraphale murmured back. He smiled tightly at Crowley then quickly looked away. 

Crowley shifted on the beautiful, but unforgivingly sturdy sofa. He tried to tug the dressing gown hem over his knees. The suit looked up at the movement and asked him very solicitously if he wanted more tea. 

A door in the far corner of the room opened and Effie came in. Crowley hadn’t seen her down by the river, but this had to be her. She had a particular way of walking as though you owned any place you deigned to visit that swung perilously between confidence and arrogance. Crowley had spent an entire career trying to master it and wished he’d seen Effie earlier so he could have taken notes. 

Aziraphale sat up just a tiny bit straighter when her dark eyes fell on them. Beautiful eyes, beautiful all over she was, with her dark skin and tailored cream suit, but also very distant, like she was holding herself just slightly beyond them all. Like she was looking at something invisible to the rest of them. She folded her arms and Crowley experienced a visceral fear that he’d not had since he’d been kicked out of home as a teenager.

“Right, the pair of you! What on earth were you playing at?” Effie's voice was measured and calm. It was also cold and hard as steel. 

Pepper and Adam launched into a torrent of placations and excuses that ran into silence when Effie held up her hand.

“I am not talking to you!” Those all seeing eyes fixed on Aziraphale and Crowley. She lifted an eyebrow “Well?”

Crowley may have just thrown himself into a freezing river to save a child, but he was a coward at heart. “She’s your ex-wife,” he said to Aziraphale. 

Effie’s eyebrows inched higher.

“Well,” Aziraphale laughed nervously. “I was doing some promotion work at the Ineffable Publishing Children’s awards, and Crowley was at the bar…”

Crowley shook his head quickly.

Aziraphale swallowed.

“This isn’t dad’s fault!” Pepper wriggled off the arm of the sofa. “If it wasn’t for you playing games I’d never have needed to run away in the first place.” She stalked over to her mother, too big dressing gown sleeves flopping down over her wrists. “I love you mum, you work so hard, but you can’t control everyone! You can’t control Dad and you can’t control me, and I’m not going to let you make decisions about my life without you consulting me first!”

Effie leaned back on her heels slightly. She blinked.

Pepper was near shivering with anger now. Crowley was in very real fear of her exploding. He jumped when the flopping dressing gown sleeve was waved in his direction. “And it’s not Mr Crowley’s fault that his mother-in-law is completely evil and possibly insane! Adam and I just wanted to be heard, and Dad and Mr Crowley were too daft to see what was going on between them, and they wouldn’t last five minutes without us to look after them so we ran away because it was the only way anyone would listen! You never listen!”

The room subsided into the shocked silence of several people feeling terribly awkward and not knowing how to be polite about it.

Pepper covered her face and burst into tears. 

Adam was rigid on Crowley’s lap. Crowley wasn’t the most relaxed he’d ever been either. 

Aziraphale and Effie nearly bumped heads in the race to be the one to hug Pepper first. 

“I’m fine,” Pepper pushed them off. “Please Mum. Let me stay with Dad. My whole life is in Soho, and he needs me.” 

Effie drew back while Aziraphale stayed on his knees, rubbing Pepper’s shoulder blades. 

Effie looked at them both, deep, dark eyes processing something unknowable. “Yes,” Effie said quietly. “I can see that he does. We can all talk about it later.”

Pepper wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her mother immediately tutted and held out a handkerchief.

“No." Azirapahle stood up, palm still resting on his daughter's shoulder." We can talk about it now.” He had a stubborn set to his shoulders and the tone of his voice did fluttery things to Crowley’s stomach. “Maybe you can give her opportunities that I can’t. And, yes, I admit that I do struggle sometimes. I make mistakes, but everyone does. And I really don’t think that being ushered off to a fancy boarding school and shunted about from faceless drone to faceless drone over the holidays is the best way to help her succeed. No offense, Matt.”

“Oh, offence very much taken,” drawled the suited, faceless drone in question from his station by the desk. 

“Good.” The look Aziraphale gave him was smug. Crowley wanted to cheer. He very much wanted to back Aziraphale into the nearest flat surface and kiss him senseless. 

“Is this what you want, Pepper?” Effie asked, disbelief colouring her voice.

Pepper nodded, twisting the sodden handkerchief in her hands. “Although if you wanted to read to me at bedtime tonight…”

“There’s…” The suit began.

Effie lifted her hand again. 

The suit hastily held a finger to his own lips, obsequiously shushing himself. 

“Cancel it. Yes, I’d like that.” Effie opened her arms and Pepper flung herself into them. Effie kissed her head and said just loud enough for the others to hear. “And then maybe you can tell me what exactly is going on between your father and Mr Crowley that they are both too daft to see.”

Crowley did not care for the way she looked at him. This was the look of a woman who knew how to plot. 

Aziraphale sat hastily back down on the sofa, knees together and hands folded in his lap. He did not acknowledge Crowley at all.

“Well, then.” Effie stood up. “All of you need to rest, and I really must get back to work.”

Before he could think about it too much, Crowley shifted Adam off his lap and got up to follow. Aziraphale shot him a puzzled look, but the fate of Hastur and Ligur was bothering Crowley. Not that he cared particularly for their well being at all, but if they were going to be waiting for him outside the property he’d rather be prepared than not. 

“Er, excuse me…”

It was only when he faced Effie by himself that Crowley realised his mistake. He’d always thought Lucille could see more of him than he wanted. This woman’s patient, curious gaze could strip him down to bones and use those bones for divining the true essence of Anthony J. Crowley. He nearly just waved it off and retreated. Adam was watching though, and Pepper, and Aziraphale, and Crowley was an adult. He could do this. Still, his feet shuffled and he didn’t look Effie directly in the eye as he said, “Those two men…”

“Your mother-in-law’s employees, yes?” She sounded kind, but it was a kindness that very much had a time limit attached. Crowley heard it ticking down. 

“What have you done with them?”

She folded her arms, gave Crowley another skin stripping stare. “Oh, I’ve been aware of Lucille’s work for a while now, they are going to answer me some questions about her.”

“You’ve seen her films.” Crowley knew he sounded stupid, but wasn’t sure what else could be meant.

Effie laughed. It was like tinkling fairy bells. Ethereal and ominous. “No, Mr Crowley, this is about her more political activities.” She leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “She’s a rich, bored entitled woman with nothing better to do than cause trouble. I am paid rather a lot of money to make sure that trouble doesn’t damage our chances of winning the next election. Now unless there’s anything else you’d like to know?” She pulled back, taking the almost petrichor scent of her perfume with her.

There was a very great deal Crowley wanted to know. He imagined it was all stashed away in encrypted files though and far, far above his pay grade. “Nah,” he said. “Thanks.”

Effie nodded. She hesitated. She laid a hand on his arm and leaned in again. “It really has been fun meeting you. Look after him for me, won’t you?”

Crowley followed her gaze to where Aziraphale had a firm hold on both children and wore an expression that screamed what the fuck are you doing? at an embarrassingly loud level. Crowley grinned at his frowning eyebrows and puzzled mouth and felt the ‘L’ word punch him right in the solar plexus. “Yeah, sure,” he said. 

Effie had already walked away. 

It had been a very strange day. All in all, Aziraphale was rather glad it was ending. He rested his elbows on the balcony’s balustrade and looked out over the formal gardens that had been landscaped to within an inch of their lives. It was taking every single iota of willpower not to go back inside and check on Pepper. He’d have to let go sooner or later, but the thought of how many times he’d lost her over the last few days made his hands shake. He linked his fingers together and watched the sun gradually drop below the horizon, washing the sky with scarlet.

It took him a moment before he registered the presence behind him. When he looked up Effie came forward and handed him a glass of whisky. He took it gratefully. “How was bedtime?”

Effie smiled. He’d forgotten how glorious that smile was, but then she hadn’t done it very often towards the end of their marriage. “Very good. Surprisingly good.” She rested her elbows next to his and sipped her own whisky. “When did you get so feisty, Az?”

“Feisty?” But he remembered how he’d spoken earlier, how he’d demanded to be heard. That had felt wonderfully cathartic. He was still coming down from the high of it, to be honest, and confronting some other interesting realisations about things on the way. 

Effie’s smile changed slightly. No longer joyful but knowing, and really rather provocatively smug. “It’s a good look on you. He’s good for you.”

Thank the Lord for darkness; the blush bloomed over Aziraphale's cheeks. “Oh, we’re not. I mean Crowley and I barely know each other. Not even friends. The children, obviously…”

“You still writing fanfiction about him?”

“I never! I really don’t…”

Effie turned to face him, still leaning one elbow on the balcony. She sipped her whisky again, letting him splutter. “You’re a shit liar, Az. Always have been to everyone except yourself.” 

Aziraphale looked away. She always saw more than you wanted her to. 

“I never should have married you,” Effie said. “I think I admitted that you were gay before you did.”

“We were both trying to run from things as hard and as fast as we could. Wasn’t really time to look too closely at the whys, was there?” Aziraphale twisted the whisky glass in his hands. 

“And how are my ex-in laws?”

Aziraphale groaned. “Still blaming me for the mess that is my life because I should have prayed harder not to like men. And mine?”

She laughed. “Still blaming me for the mess that is my life because I should have given up work and made you a proper home.”

Feeling particularly daring Aziraphale lifted his glass. “Well, fuck them.”

Her grin as she clinked her glass against his was luminous. “Cheers. Miss talking to you.” 

“Then take my calls occasionally.”

Effie’s lips parted in surprise. Then she laughed again, a proper cackle of delighted surprise. “See? Feisty!” 

Aziraphale tried his best not to blush again and nearly managed it. “Well, I’m angry with you.”

“Angry, with me? I was not the one who lost our daughter, Az.”

She sounded so kind, so unflinchingly reasonable. Aziraphale held on tight to his glass and his anger. “I was not the one who used our daughter as bait. When we spoke yesterday you said, tell me about the reprobates? Really, my dear.”

Effie had the decency to fidget. “It was an opportunity. I didn’t plan for it to get that dangerous.” She gulped down her whisky. “It was a miscalculation. I didn’t expect the children to run away.”

“No,” said Aziraphale dryly. “Neither did I.”

She glanced at him, real pain cracking through her glossy veneer of calm.

Aziraphale sighed. “You need to stop trying to be in control all the time. Pepper’s right, you can’t treat people like things to be shifted about on a chess board.” 

“I know,” she snapped. “I know, but I have a whole country relying on me to take care of them.”

“She is our daughter, Effie. I won’t let you treat her like that.”

She knocked back the rest of her whisky. “I’m sorry. I am. Just, it’s hard sometimes to find my way through all the conflicting priorities.”

Being this angry, or at least having the courage to acknowledge how angry he was was exhausting. “That’s why you need to spend more time with Pepper. If there’s one thing that girl is good at, and there is more than one, let me tell you, then it’s cutting through other people’s conflicting priorities.” Aziraphale loved Pepper so much. And thinking back on the last few days made him weak-kneed. 

“I miss Pepper too,” Effie said quietly.

Aziraphale’s anger ebbed, just a tad. “She is proof that we did one thing right together, isn’t she?”

“I know you think me wanting her is all about image, but it’s also about guilt, and loneliness, and wanting to be better too.”

“I don’t think that about your image. Well, a bit, maybe, but you’ve been absent so long. You need to come back into her life gently. She’s practically a grown woman.” And Aziraphale had to let go. The tighter he held on the more Pepper would fight him. “I’ve a book tour in July. Was going to take her, but it’ll be a lot of being dragged around…”

“…and shunted between faceless drones?” Effie said.

“…Yes.” Aziraphale managed a smile. “You could ask her if she wanted to stay with you. For some or all of it. Whatever you could do. If you can manage not to use her as part of a power play.”

Effie side eyed him, mouth twisting with displeasure.

“No,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I intend never to let this go.”

“Send me the dates. I’ll have Matt rearrange my schedule,” Effie replied stiffly.

“Thank you.”

The kiss was a whisper against his cheek. “Thank you. Are you happy, Az?”

“Yes, I think so. You?”

“Yes, I think so. I’m right where I want to be, after all. Right where everyone said I’d never get. Always room for improvement though, isn’t there?”

“Oh, Certainly.” 

Effie tapped her empty glass against the balustrade. “He’s in the room next to yours. Just as a point of reference. Sleep well.” Then she walked off, alone in the moonlight.

So much for not being controlling. Aziraphale finished his own drink and went inside.

A tumbler of whisky wasn’t quite enough to silence Aziraphale’s paranoia. He stopped by Pepper’s room to check on her. On finding the bed empty and devoid of covers he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was about to scream with frustration when a door clicked shut across the hallway. Crowley took a couple of steps forwards. Without thinking, Aziraphale stepped out to meet him so they could whisper like conspirators in the middle of the corridor. 

“She’s in with Adam,” Crowley said. “They’re sleeping on the floor in a homemade pillow fort. I took one look at them and decided it was a battle I didn’t want to fight.”

“Very wise.” Now that Azirapahle’s anxiety had returned to nothing more than background static he could see the appeal of snuggling up with a familiar comforting presence in a pillow fort. How did one go about suggesting that when one was almost fifty? He contented himself with inhaling Crowley's scent, now almost masked by foreign shampoo. 

“I presume you checked the window was locked as well?” Aziraphale said quietly. That was why they were so close, so they didn't wake the children. 

“Oh yes.” Crowley’s face was serious. “Considering setting a trip wire across the door too. Do you know where I can get some dobermans?” He pushed his hands into his pockets. Like Aziraphale he was now wearing grey jogging bottoms and T-shirt with the angel wings embroidered over his breast. It was the casual wear of Effie’s security guards. Crowley shouldn’t have looked so good in it. All long legs, naked forearms and enticing lips. Aziraphale took the memory of what that mouth felt like, tasted like and tucked it away safely for when it would be most needed.

“I’m just this way,” he pointed down the corridor and reluctantly moved away from the warmth of Crowley's body. 

“Me too.” Crowley slipped into step with him.

The silence curled round them, heavy and expectant. “Can you imagine what would have happened if we’d been at all competent?” Aziraphale said quickly.

“We didn’t do too badly,” Crowley chuckled. 

Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows. “You are joking?”

“Yes, we’re dreadful. Terrible. Awful.” Crowley grinned, dimples on full display before he looked away. 

Aziraphale stopped by his bedroom door. “This is me.”

“Ok. I’m just here.” Crowley gestured to the door they’d just walked past .“It's folded up on the back seat of the Bentley. Your coat."

Aziraphale sighed. It was going to be horribly creased. 

" About this morning…" Crowley began. 

It was fine, really. And the subsequent chat had with Ms Potts had been most enlightening on several levels. "I imagine you did it for the same misguided reasons I phoned Effie without your consent in the first place." 

"Yes, that!" Crowley clapped his hands with delight. 

"The results were just more awkward for everyone involved. Honestly do I look like a damsel in need of rescuing?" Aziraphale couldn't help sounding put out. It really had been a very strange day. 

Crowley shuffled his feet, hands now deep in his pockets to the extent the waist band at the front of his joggers dipped slightly. "I promise never to do it again."

Crowley looked so desperate. So repentant. Aziraphale really couldn't help himself. "There's no need to go that far, just perhaps next time we could have a chat about safe words first?"

Crowley's eyes widened. He choked on his laugh.

"Ms Potts and I had quite the tete a tete while I was restrained." 

The more Aziraphale had got to know Crowley, the more he realised that the cool facade he projected was just that. Beneath the dark glasses and the leather jacket dwelt the sweetest, vulnerable mess Aziraphale had ever had the pleasure of meeting. 

The expression Crowley wore now was the complete antithesis of suave. His cheeks were pink and he almost clucked like a chicken when Aziraphale said, "She gave me quite the few pointers, actually."

“You what?” Crowley managed.

Aziraphale dissolved into giggles. 

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. "You filthy tease."

"Consider us even now." Aziraphale was impressed he got the words out without giving into laughter again. 

"Yeah, OK. Thanks, Aziraphale." Crowley smiled too. His blush really was adorable. 

"You're welcome." 

They'd drifted closer again. Crowley's eyes searched his and Aziraphale wanted nothing but to say yes. He indulged in fantasies where Crowley pushed back into the doorframe, his long fingers plucking at Aziraphale's clothes. Where he could forget everything in that heady rush of being desired and accepted. 

This was a dangerous path to walk. This wasn’t a mad chase across counties anymore, this was a reality they would both have to live in for the long term. Aziraphale was suddenly, inexplicably scared of that. Strange that resigning himself to losing Crowley had been easier than acknowledging the terror of getting to keep him. Of actually having to accept that someone might actually want him and the changes that would follow from that. 

Loss was familiar, that was the thing. Aziraphale knew about disappointment and loneliness. He'd written happy endings without ever applying the practicalities to himself. 

Aziraphale forced himself not to move. Either backing away or falling straight into Crowley's arms felt like too much. It was this cold house and its many cameras. The way the glass and the mostly blank walls stretched your eye, making you feel exposed. Maybe when they all left things would be easier. 

Crowley must have sensed Aziraphale's resolve wavering. He didn't retreat, but he didn't come any closer either. "You need a lift tomorrow? I can drop you and Pepper off before skirtgate. Or, if your ex is going to give you a car that’s fine. I mean, only if you need it.”

“I think I’ve rather run out of credits with her for the time being.” 

“Sure. Not a problem.” Crowley shrugged a shoulder.

“Thank you.” The silence crept back up to them, sniffing curiously. Aziraphale had always thought of himself as a man of words. Currently, they were not playing ball. He gazed at Crowley, mouth slightly open, while a myriad of potential futures bobbed for his attention. “Well, good night,” he decided.

“Yeah, good night.” 

Aziraphale thought he heard Crowley whisper angel as he shut the door.


	18. Fighting to the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skirtgate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so nearly there! Thank you for sticking with me. 
> 
> After this chapter I promise much fluff, smut and communication. 
> 
> Chapter title from We Are The Champions.

**Elysium**

**Saturday 30th May**

**The end of the world.**

If today was the end of the world, then Hell was winning. Did Adam think Crowley was getting him up this early through spite? Did Adam think Crowley wanted to be up this early himself? 

"We need to be leaving in five minutes!" Not calm. Very much not in control. Not that Crowley would be winning any parenting awards this year anyway, but today he was really off his game. He just wanted to get to the review board for skirtgate on time. Crowley checked his watch, furiously calculating driving time. They could still make it. If Adam hurried up. 

Did Adam want to end up at a military school in Scotland? They'd worked so hard to feel like a family again, broken and fragmented as that sometimes was. 

I mean odds looked like they would lose that anyway if Lucille had her way, but that was no reason not to fight it. And Crowley wanted a fight. "Adam!" 

"I'm coming!" Adam hollered back, picking up on Crowley's stress levels and responding with his own frustrated anger. "I can't find my spyglass."

Crowley's molars ground together. Even his hair was tense. "Why were you lugging that round the countryside?" He shouted through the partially open bedroom door before going back to pacing the hallway.

"In case we needed to spy on things, obviously!" 

"Obviously." Crowley banged his fist gently against his own temples. Bad enough they'd have to rock up to skirtgate in matching leisure wear and looking like Heaven's relay team. He shouldn't have offered Aziraphale and Pepper a lift, but he wasn't going to go back on that now.

Angel didn't belong in the middle of all this self righteous starkness, and Crowley had no intention of abandoning him here. 

"Adam!" Crowley tried again. 

"I said I was coming!" Adam replied with equal volume. 

"Bloody, buggering… Aziraphale!" Crowley stopped his muttering. "How you doing?" 

Aziraphale's gaze flicked over Crowley followed by a cautious smile. "Better than you, it appears."

Crowley bit down on his sneer. There'd been no shouting about getting Pepper ready this morning. Although whatever words had been exchanged had left father and daughter both puffy eyed and subdued at breakfast. 

"We can make our own way back to London. It really isn't a problem." Aziraphale worried his hands together.

"It's fine. Fine." Waiting for Aziraphale and Pepper wasn't the problem. Crowley wondered if he was still strong enough to pick Adam up and force the issue. 

"Then Pepper and I have discussed it." Aziraphale's fingers were still knitted together. His eyes and words hopefully eager. "And we can come with you. If you'd like? To the review."

"Don’t you need to get home?" Because this was just a token kindness, surely? One that Crowley was expected to refuse. 

"No rush. And there's really no point you ploughing all the way through the traffic to Soho, only to then come back out to Hampstead. Plus you never know how the M25 will be behaving. It really is the devil's road."

Crowley blinked. "You really don't…" 

"We'd like to. Moral support." Aziraphale's hands had stopped fidgeting now. He looked at Crowley full of sincerity. 

Crowley felt he should still refuse, but it would be easier to avoid driving through London. And the idea that he'd have someone there on his side, someone who had inconvenienced himself to be there, would have been unbelievable before today. "Sure, alright then. Thank you."

Aziraphale beamed. "Our pleasure. I believe Pepper has the spyglass. She said if I saw Adam I should mention it to him.” 

“Right.” Be calm. Be in control. “Meet you both by the car then?”

“In five minutes?”

“Less than that now. You’d best…” Crowley pulled himself up straight and in his poshest Oxbridge voice said, “ _ get a wiggle on _ .” He adjusted an invisible bow tie for good measure. 

Aziraphale gasped. "I do not sound like that!" 

"You really do!" 

Aziraphale's affronted gasp was delicious. Then he said. "Really, the way you drive, I'm surprised there's any rush at all. _ Speed limits are for other people, angel _ ."

Crowley took a moment to fully process the impression through his shock. That impression was of him! Worse, it was really rather good. It was the way Aziraphale had suddenly decided to lounge against the wall, all louche insolence, his voice pitched deeper and mocking. 

"I do not…" Crowley began. His mouth did not curl like that! Did it? 

"You very much do." Aziraphale folded his arms. 

"That's slander, that is." He would have sounded more offended if a laugh wasn't bubbling up in his throat. 

"Only if it's unsubstantiated." Aziraphale's lip twitched. "I'll see you at the car."

"In two minutes!" Crowley called at Aziraphale's retreating back. 

Aziraphale raised a hand in acknowledgement. Crowley took a very deep breath and in his best rendition of a capable parent turned to face the bedroom. 

Adam stood by the door, backpack slung on his shoulder. He looked at Crowley with something like horrified wonder. 

Crowley refused to be embarrassed at being caught flirting. “Adam, Pepper has your spyglass.”

Adam blinked at him. Realisation lit up his eyes. “Oh, yes! Thanks dad.”

“Car! Hellion! Now!”

Adam hoisted his backpack and fled. 

Aziraphale had always presumed that a private school would look rather like Eton. This one sort of did, if it was an Eton that had been grabbed by the school tie and hauled kicking and writhing into the twenty first century. The old, red brick buildings of bygone days were offset rather jarringly with a space age plexiglass extension. The outbuildings were all white swooping curves and ostentatious domes. The original school building of the main entrance hung it’s head and shuffled it’s feet, frankly embarrassed by the showy, award winning architecture that surrounded it. 

Inside, they were greeted by a brightly coloured motivational poster and a display rejoicing at the roaring success of the school's production of  _ The Sound of Music.  _

A turnstile cut the entrance hall off from the rest of the building. Standing guard over it was a wet fish of a woman in a grey skirt who glowered out at them from behind a glass window. 

“Mr Crowley,” she said. “Nice of you to finally join us.” She buzzed them through the turnstile gate. “Take a seat.” A row of multicoloured plastic chairs were waved at. She bared uncomfortably pointed teeth at Aziraphale and Pepper, "You're new visitors. You'll need to fill these out." A hatch by the window opened and a stack of coloured forms was pushed out. 

Aziraphale went to the window and obediently took them. "Do you have a pen?" 

The fish woman looked at him blankly. "No. I'll tell Ms Fly you've bothered to turn up, shall I?" 

The four of them sat down, arranging their limbs as best they could on the seats that were clearly designed for seven year olds. Aziraphale balanced the forms on his knees and tried to will a pen into existence.

"We're only three minutes late." Crowley made a show of waving his expensive watch at the woman behind the glass. She drew a curtain across the glass, leaving them to shuffle their feet and the forms until the resolute thunk of boots was heard further down the hall. The new woman who approached them frowned and stomped and had a glower that could rival even Pepper’s. Her cold black eyes studied them for a moment. “Mr Crowley, at last. And you made the effort for us too. How kind.”

Aziraphale felt they could have all turned up in top hats and tails and this woman would remain unimpressed. 

"Ms Fly, always charmed to be in your presence." Crowley's debonair smile didn't quite hide his loathing. At least he tried. Ms Fly simply scowled and then stomped back up the hallway with an unenthusiastic, "Follow me, then."

They did. Anything to get off the chairs. No one questioned Aziraphale and Pepper so Aziraphale tucked the forms under his arm and took them with him. 

"Beatrice Fly," Crowley murmured in Aziraphale's ear. "Adam's head of year. She hates me."

"What gave it away?" Aziraphale whispered back and had the satisfaction of seeing Adam attempt a smile. 

"Yeah, well not everyone is as good an actor as me," Crowley muttered. 

Ms Fly's hefty boots echoed in the quiet corridor. She led them up a great many stairs, and into a room with chairs arranged around a central table. These chairs were thankfully sized for adults. The table was pristine glass, as was the panoramic window that stretched in a curve along the far wall. Beyond it the race track and sports fields spread out below, bordered by a distant treeline. It gave Aziraphale vertigo. 

The man who rose to greet them didn't settle Aziraphale's nerves. He sent a chill straight down Aziraphale’s spine. He knew without a doubt that this smiling, shovel-jawed salesman was responsible for the motivational posters. His suit was crisp, and his eyes oddly violet. 

“Mr Crowley…” Ms Fly glowered extra hard at Aziraphale, “And party have arrived.” She dropped herself into a chair and continued to remain uninterested in proceedings. 

“Thank you Ms Fly.” The salesman began shaking hands with a grip that was deliberately forceful. “Lucille not with you, Crowley? We had a message saying her driver had gone AWOL, thought you'd gone to collect her and that was why you were late.”

Crowley pulled out a chair and plopped himself down with complete disregard for its design. His limbs splayed out and his spine curled. “Nah, not heard a peep from Lucille. Will we be waiting, seeing as we are running so very late? I’m sure very important headmasters like yourself have other places to be, Gabriel.”

Gabriel, the salesman, flicked across the screen on his tablet. Ms Fly shrugged and inspected her nails. “Dagon’ll bring her up when she gets here.”

“Most irregular,” Gabriel said. “Still…” he checked his watch. “Must crack on. I’m sure we all know why we are here…” 

The despondency of everyone present indicated that they did. What followed was a long and thorough litany of Adam’s many sins against Gabriel’s fine educational establishment. 

Ms Fly helped things along with her own list of complaints. 

Adam had made quite the pair of enemies. 

Crowley sat up straighter with each and every accusation. Adam sunk further into himself, shoulders hunching. Pepper tugged her chair closer to him so their arms touched. 

“Which brings us to the matter involving the school's dress code.” Gabriel boomed. “The regulations clearly state that students will wear the appropriate school uniform when on the premises, and while we have been more than happy to open our doors to the fairer sex recently…”

Pepper tensed, but fortunately Aziraphale didn’t have to avert an incident. She simply lifted her eyebrows incredulously at the headmaster. Azirphale didn’t blame her. He’d never so inexplicably had the desire to punch someone so much in his life. There was an overbearing older brother presence about him, or something of a particularly noxious ex-boyfriend. 

Aziraphale decided he was very lucky never to have run across the man until now. He was full of regret that Adam had. What on Earth was a man who so obviously disliked children doing in charge of a school? 

“The regulations do explicitly state that…” Gabriel thundered on in all his pompous outrage.

“Do they?” Aziraphale asked before his brain had really become aware of what his mouth was up to. Everyone to looked at him with emotions ranging from irritation (Gabriel) to hopeful surprise (Adam). Honestly though, he'd suffer anything to stop the man's monologuing. Aziraphale cleared his throat. Well, best press on. “I just wondered if I might see a copy of these regulations, seeing as you are talking about them rather a lot without actually saying where it specifically says Adam shouldn’t have been wearing a skirt.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” Gabriel asked Crowley. "Does he have the right paperwork?" 

Crowley’s grin wouldn’t have looked out of place on a snake. “This is Adam’s creative writing tutor.”

"And the paperwork is in progress." Aziraphale gestured guiltily at the stack of forms on the floor by his chair. “Do either of you have a pen?”

“No.” Both Gabriel and Ms Fly snapped.

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is all most irregular. Still, the regulations say that appropriate…”

“Yes, you’ve said. I’d like to see where.” Aziraphale put on his most helpful expression.

Gabriel stabbed at his ipad and then slid it across the table to Aziraphale before sitting back with a huff and folding his arms. Aziraphale glanced over the screen. He took great pleasure in taking his time. He ‘hmmed’ to himself as he scrolled back and forth.

“Yes,” he conceded. “It does say that, doesn’t it? Students must be attired in the appropriate school uniform at all times.”

“Yes,” said Gabriel with evident relief. “Now, could we get on, sport?”

_ Sport! Oh, that was very much it.  _

Aziraphale pushed the ipad back and shuffled his chair closer to the desk so he could link both his hands on its top. “In a moment. Could you define appropriate for me?”

“With boys in trousers and girls in skirts.” Gabriel’s irritation was showing. The look he gave Ms Fly was one of amazement. 

Ms Fly’s eye roll would have made Pepper proud. “It is written,” she said. 

“Yes, but not, apparently, as clearly as you both seem to think. Or am I missing something? A footnote perhaps?”

“In a very, very tiny font?” Crowley leaned forward on his elbow, eyebrow quirked ominously. 

"Perhaps in Comic Sans?" Aziraphale added. 

Gabriel opened his mouth, but with nothing to put in it but bluster his jaw simply hung at half mast.

Crowley made a noise rather like a broken dishwasher as he swallowed down his laugh. "It doesn't," he said with glee, "does it?" 

Aziraphale felt lighter than he had in decades. "So, now we've dealt with that I presume you have conclusive evidence that Adam was indeed responsible for the science lab explosion?" 

Gabriel turned to face him, pure unadulterated annoyance clouding his handsome face. 

Aziraphale found this immensely satisfying. 

After that the meeting ended rather abruptly. 

The four of them tumbled out of the building into the sunlight. Adam flung himself on Crowley's back, screaming victory in his ear. Pepper was pogoing, her braids flapping with each bounce. Adam tumbled off Crowley's back taking his glasses with him. He joined Pepper in her jumping, and they yelled affectionately in each other's faces. Crowley bent to retrieve his glasses. Aziraphale scooped them up first. Crowley straightened the aches in his shoulders and took them back, putting them on to shield against the glory of Aziraphale's smile. It was all uninhibited joy and affection. Crowley wanted to bathe in it. 

"You…" Crowley couldn’t stop laughing.

"Me?" Aziraphale continued to beam. 

“Mad bastard.” 

They were close, getting closer again. Crowley itched to sweep Aziraphale off his feet and damn the consequences. The beautiful, amazing pedant. His intentions must have been etched all over his face because Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He glanced nervously at the children then back at Crowley, eyebrows raised.

A sleek town car pulled up on the drive accompanied by the discreet crunch of gravel. 

It wasn't over yet. 

Adam hurried back to Crowley’s side as the back door opened and Lucille’s ram headed cane appeared, followed by the rest of her swathed in velvet and furs like an early twentieth century dowager. Her piercing eyes raked over them. "Hastur's not with you, I see." 

Crowley shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak. As it was keeping his smug smile under wraps was enough of a challenge. 

"Well, at least you waited for me." Lucille sniffed. 

"We didn't. ‘Sover. Turns out Adam didn't break the rules at all." Crowley held his son close. Aziraphale’s and Pepper’s presence on Adam’s other side was wonderfully reassuring. 

"I find that highly unlikely." Lucille peered down at Adam from the lofty heights of her moral high ground. 

"I didn't." 

Crowley was surprised at how calm Adam sounded. He didn't let go of Crowley's side but he shuffled forward and glowered up at his grandmother. "They were trying to expel me on an...an erroneous technicality." He glanced at Aziraphale who nodded ever so slightly. "And when they realised that they said I could stay."

"Eventually." Crowley muttered. There had still been quite a fight over it, the skirt only being the tip of the iceberg after all, but Aziraphale's long words and bloody mindedness had worn them down. "Now we just have to decide if we want him to stay there. Thinking a comprehensive school might be a nice change of pace."

Lucille's eyes narrowed.and her nostrils flared. "A comprehensive!" She spat the words out like poison. May I remind you…" 

"You're not my dad!” Whatever dam had been holding Adam’s emotions in check broke. "You only want me around because I'm the last apple on your family tree. You don't actually like me, you don't want what's best for me. My dad does!" 

“He doesn’t know what’s best for you!” Lucille snapped back. "He didn't know what was best for your mother!" 

Crowley tucked Adam securely behind his back as Lucille leaned forward over her cane. He was actually shaking when he said. “He’s not yours, Lucille. Let it go.”

"And you're so sure he's yours?" 

It felt like time stopped. Crowley was falling and there was nothing left to grasp at. 

"I am!" Adam fought his way under Crowley's arm so he was at the front again, glaring up at his grandmother. "What? You think I've never seen the gossip on the Internet when I searched for things about mum? You think the kids at school haven't heard it from their parents and rub it in my face? It doesn't matter so don't threaten us with genetics. This is my dad. He chose me and now I'm choosing him."

And just like that it didn't matter. The worrying and the contingency planning, and the bone aching fear of what would happen if Adam found out. Adam knew, and still wanted Crowley as his dad. 

Lucille spluttered like a freshly caught fish. Crowley would be enjoying the image more if he wasn't desperately trying to hide the fact that he had something in his eye. Alright. Both eyes. 

Lucille switched her astonished outrage from Adam to Crowley. "Mutiny, is it?" 

Her attention was sharp as a knife. Her shrewd eyes flicked up to Crowley’s face. She stepped forward, then her attention dropped to his chest. One French manicured talon picked at the angel wings embroidered over Crowley's breast. 

She actually looked unsure. Her scrawny throat jumped as she gulped. Very slowly she drew back, pulling herself up to her full height, but something had fled from her posture. She no longer looked so powerful or inflexible. 

"Well, at least now I know what's happened to Hastur. You have friends in high places it appears, Crowley.” She fixed her gaze on Aziraphale, as though committing it to memory. “Who’d have thought you’d have it in you.” 

She swept past him and into the school. Probably to shout at them instead. 

Aziraphale shuddered. Then he squeezed Adam's arm. "You were very brave."

Adam dragged an arm across his nose. "'snothing."

"You too," Aziraphale whispered to Crowley. 

"'Snothing." Crowley exhaled long and slow. He gave in, pushing his thumb and forefinger beneath his glasses to swipe at his eyes. "So,what now?" 

Aziraphale clapped his hands together. "This calls for a celebration. What would everyone say to some crepes?"

“Crepes!” Pepper shouted.

"With ice cream?" Adam brightened instantly. 

Oh to be eleven and have ice cream as the answer to all problems! Crowley gathered Adam into a hug. "Of course with ice cream."


	19. Having a Good Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of their lives start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Don't Stop Me Now. 
> 
> You are all lovely. Thank you.

**Soho**

**Saturday 30th May**

**After the end of the world.**

The day had been nothing short of charmed. The high from the victory of Skirtgate was fed with an incredibly sugary lunch at a 1950s style place near Regents Park. This had somehow led into a detour around South London to Crystal Palace Park to see the dinosaurs and get thoroughly lost in the maze. 

Aziraphale was exhausted. Partly because of the extended post-apocalyptic celebrations, but mostly because he was now very much faced with getting back on the hamster wheel of reality. The bookshop’s façade was illuminated by Soho’s rainbow neon lights, the windows dark and uninviting. Crowley turned off the Bentley’s engine, long fingers of one hand tapping gently on the steering wheel. He pulled off his latest baseball cap (the rim was a pterodactyl beak, and a pair of miniature wings protruded from the sides) and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Well, this has been lovely,” Aziraphale said to break the silence. Not that it hadn’t been lovely. It had. Rather too lovely, and now it was over.

“Yes. Should do it again.” Crowley turned to face him. The intensity of his gaze could be felt even through those tinted lenses. 

“Yes! The children really enjoyed themselves.” Aziraphale’s mouth continued to move, skating uncaring over the more complicated emotions trying to make themselves known. 

The children were asleep on the backseat, one leaning either side of a giant plush T-Rex which looked suspiciously like it was laughing. Aziraphale still wasn’t entirely sure how they had acquired it. Money must have exchanged hands at some point, but it had appeared right in the middle of convincing Pepper not to climb on the Iguanodon. 

“Not exactly a punishment for them though, was it?,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Oh, there will be punishment. Just…” Crowley glanced at the back seat, the lines of his mouth softening.

“Yes.” Aziraphale sighed. “When the relief at having them safe has ebbed a touch.”

Crowley went back to playing a one handed tattoo on the Bentley’s steering wheel. The other rested temptingly on his thigh. “Why do you think they did it, really? The running away, I mean.”

“I really wouldn't like to guess.” Although Aziraphale very much could guess, and suspected Crowley had a number of his own theories brewing too. They should compare notes perhaps? 

Aziraphale closed his eyes. He thought about how he and Crowley had been in and out of each other's orbit all day. Close, but never really touching as they spun round the children as well. Aziraphale should have been braver. He should have reached for Crowley's hand, or stolen a kiss in the maze. At least then he'd know whether this thing between them was tangible and could survive without a diet of high level fear and anxiety to sustain it.

Speaking of high level anxiety, there was still time to try an experiment, wasn’t there? While they still existed in the liminal space between fantasy and reality. Aziraphale took a fortifying breath and placed his hand over Crowley’s. 

Crowley made a garbled noise in his throat and turned back to look at the road again. 

Aziraphale's gaze lingered on Crowley's profile, heart thudding. The lights picked out his cheekbones and the curve of his upper lip.

Their breathing was soft, heavy almost, despite the movement on the streets outside. Crowley carefully pushed his glasses up onto his head with his free hand. The hand he had currently trapped beneath Aziraphale’s turned over so they were palm to palm. Their fingers laced. 

Aziraphale exhaled slowly as Crowley turned back to look at him. He tried to smile over his jumping nerves. No, wait. That would make him look silly. The anxiety squirrels were doing laps of his brain and he couldn't stop them.  _ Just keep breathing. Should I kiss him? Oh, wait, is he going to kiss me? Breathe. Breathe. _

Neither one of them looked away. 

Just when Aziraphale was going to snatch his hand away and start apologising, Crowley leaned in. The kiss was careful, furtive almost. Aziraphale's thoughts whited out. He closed his eyes, not wanting to break whatever magic still existed in the day. He squeezed Crowley’s hand to steady himself and leaned into the sweet candyfloss softness of the moment. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand back. 

On the back seat someone snorted. They pulled apart, heads whipping round. Adam was now curled up, an arm flung over the T-Rex. It still looked like it was laughing. 

Crowley licked his teeth in a failed effort to keep his smile under control. “Well, best unload.” 

Aziraphale bit his lip to stop from giggling. “I guess so.” 

Still they looked at each other a moment longer in wonder before getting out of the car.

Fortunately Pepper was on the side of the car next to the pavement, which made negotiating her off the back seat and onto Aziraphale's shoulder less hazardous than it might have been. She was all limbs and joints, and weighed a great deal more than Aziraphale remembered. She grumbled into his neck, her arms flinging lazily around his shoulders. Crowley fished the bag of Aziraphale’s clothes out of the boot and hung it over one of Aziraphale’s arms. He retrieved the tartan biscuit tin from under the seat and added that as well. 

“Don’t suppose you want Smiler there, as well?” Crowley asked. 

“You’ve just got Adam back...oh, the dinosaur?” Aziraphale realised in additional horror “Absolutely not!”

"Worth a try. You wouldn’t consider joint custody?” Crowley’s mouth twisted at the corner with laughter.

“It wouldn’t be fair on the poor thing. If you want my advice…”

“Can I stop you?”

Aziraphale huffed. “No. Don’t name it. Makes it harder to get rid of when the opportunity presents itself.”

“Noted.” Crowley drawled. “Can you manage? You look pretty well loaded up." He’d stepped away, hands thrust in his back pockets giving Azirapahle an appraising look that made his stomach quiver. 

"Yes, just…" Aziraphale shifted Pepper on to his hip, turning towards Crowley slightly. “I need both hands, Would you mind?”

Crowley frowned, then quickly slid his hand in the pocket of Aziraphale's jogging bottoms to retrieve his door keys. 

Such a familiar gesture. The pressure of Crowley's fingers, the whisper of his breath. Their faces so close. Aziraphale, with a great mental effort, pulled himself together. He hoisted Pepper up a bit higher, (honestly, when had she got so long? Her mother’s genes, surely?) and followed Crowley to the shop. 

Crowley unlocked the door while Aziraphale struggled with Pepper's weight tilting his balance. 

"You can get her upstairs OK?" Crowley dropped the keys on the nearest flat surface that Aziraphale indicated with a tilt of his head. 

"We'll be quite alright. Take Adam home."

Crowley stepped back out onto the street. He hesitated, sucked at his top lip. "You still open for business tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow?" Aziraphale paused too. He’d dropped the bag but still had Pepper precariously balanced on one side and the other resting on the shop’s door. Not that he wanted to shut it yet, he still wasn’t ready to let go of the day completely. Tomorrow was simultaneously a great unknown and depressingly familiar. 

Crowley scratched the back of his neck. "Sunday, Adam's lesson. Best to get back into a routine now, and I could take Pepper out somewhere for the hour, if that's alright with you?" 

Warmth pooled in Aziraphale's belly. Not just because of him, but Pepper too. Crowley knew about fashion and music, and other exciting things that had happened in the last fifty years that Aziraphale failed to be properly enthusiastic about. "Would you call me in the morning? We can discuss it then."

"Of course, yes. Supposed to be punishing them at some point, aren’t we?"

Azirahale nodded. Pepper really was quite heavy, but he didn't move. "It really was a lovely day."

Crowley lingered a moment longer, eyes searching Aziraphale's. Aziraphale drew towards him, the tide pulled by the moon. 

Pepper shifted her face and it was her lips that smooshed momentarily against Aziraphale's cheek. 

Crowley grinned, a flash of sharp teeth in the pink light. "Hold on to her tight a moment."

"I'm sorry…?" Aziraphale’s grip tightened on Pepper though as Crowley stepped in close, taking one of Aziraphale's hans from the door in both of his. 

Crowley turned Aziraphale's hand, so he could press his mouth to the inside of his wrist. 

It was over in a heartbeat and so ridiculously romantic Azirapahle lost his breath. Pepper nearly ended up dropped on the shop's doorstep. 

“See you later.” Crowley bounded down the steps. 

Aziraphale wasn't sure how he managed to move with Pepper plastered against him. Probably walking on sunshine or something ridiculous, despite it nearly being the middle of the night. 

As Aziraphale kicked the door shut behind him even the broken blind rattling down did nothing to dampen his mood. Time didn't start again until he'd managed to flop Pepper onto her bed. 

**Soho**

**Sunday 31st May**

**The first day of the rest of their lives**

It was a bright, somewhat brittle day that greeted Aziraphale when he dared to get out of bed on Sunday morning. Pepper was still fast asleep and he decided to let sleeping pre teens lie. There'd be time enough for difficult conversations when she wasn’t an over tired grump. When he wasn't an over tired grump too, come to that. He got dressed as quietly as he could and carried out an inventory of all the things that currently needed attention. 

The bookshop was full of dusty sunlight and all the cups Aziraphale had left scattered around the shop before his hasty departure. A load of sad, soggy washing lurked in the machine upstairs. It smelled of neglect and damp. Reality very much had it's claws back in Aziraphale now. He redid the laundry and sat down with fresh tea and a crossword, and tried not to look at why everything felt so empty of focus. 

Then Crowley phoned and all the jagged edges of the world slid back into place. He didn’t even panic as he answered the call. 

"Good morning." Aziraphale tried for casual but overstepped by quite a bit and ended up sounding indifferent. Blast it. 

"Good morning." There was a smile in Crowley's voice. "My one is still present and correct, and sleeping like the dead. How's yours?" 

"Where I left her, thank goodness. I'm enjoying some peace and quiet, actually." Aziraphale began doodling in the margins of the crossword. He needed something to occupy his hands, something to ground him before his fantasies of actually having this conversation with Crowley sat next to him at the table ran away with him completely. 

"Enjoying?" Crowley asked, with the very mildest hint of mockery in his voice. It made the word feel slow and liquid, like honey. 

Aziraphale could drown in that voice. "Tolerating,” he amended, his own voice slightly hoarse. “Not sure what to do with myself really. No imminent peril to avert and all that."

"Oh, if it's peril you want, I was thinking of giving Harriet Dowling a call. Warlock's mum, you remember her?" Crowley's tone was so very nonchalant. So very up to something. 

Aziraphale had never spoken to her. Although he imagined she had been the voice with the American accent that he’d heard shouting down the hallway at the children’s party in Chelsea. "Why do you need to speak to her?" Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at the heart he'd been embellishing. At least it hadn’t got as far as drawing initials. Honestly.

"She owes us one, doesn't she? Kids were staying at her house when they ran." Crowley tutted. 

Aziraphale put down the treacherous pen that was clearly in league with his subconscious. "Pepper assured me she didn't even know they were staying there."

"Not the point. She could still make amends. I mean I won't phrase it quite like that, but if Warlock wanted to have them both over again on Friday. Celebrate Adam staying at school with him…" Crowley's voice was now like silk in Aziraphale's ear, tailing off in a promise. 

Aziraphale concentrated on not letting his breath catch in his throat. "You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you are implying."  _ Please be suggesting it. _

"That you'd have Friday night free," Crowley dared. 

"And so would you." It felt so terribly right, and illicit, which just made it all the better. Still, there were appearances to be maintained. "Do you honestly think grounding them for less than a week is a long enough punishment?" 

"No. But having the hellion moping around the house for five days will be as much as I can take." Twin thuds followed this as Crowley swung his feet onto a flat surface. 

It was true. If Pepper stayed at home Aziraphale would have to stay with her. Not that he normally had anywhere else that he particularly wanted to be of an evening. Not until now, anyway. With pulse quickening, and paternal guilt shoved rapidly to one side, he said, "And if we were both free on Friday and spent it together, that would make it harder for the children to pull the wool over our eyes again." 

"Yes, exactly that." Triumph bubbled up through the cool Crowley was trying to project. 

Aziraphale's nerves tingled with the memory of last night's kisses. It was a pleasant sensation spreading through his skin and making his heart lift. "I do have a rather nice bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape we could use to pass the time."

"That sounds like a plan."

Aziraphale allowed himself to smile. "Yes, it rather does."

. 


	20. Don't Take it Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes an uncomfortable discovery, but honestly he brought it on himself. Always check the tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Love of My Life. 
> 
> We are now in true author self indulgence territory. Thank you for sticking with me.

**Soho**

**Sunday 31st May**

**Still the first day of the rest of their lives**

Mr. Fell had set up his laptop on the end of the dining room table, and was industrious clicking away at something, when Adam and his dad arrived for the writing lesson. With all the keen, impartial observation of a naturalist, Adam watched Mr. Fell immediately close the laptop, and his dad start to tease him over what he was trying to hide. The outline of book four, apparently, although why that would cause Mr. Fell to blush quite so much, Adam wasn’t sure.

What followed was an elaborate ritual of his dad winding Mr. Fell up over the preposterous things that book four might contain in a juvenile and misguided effort to get Mr. Fell to let slip what it actually did contain. With each attack, Mr Fell grew increasingly more acerbic and verbose in his own defense. 

It was fascinating. If somewhat akin to the stupider boys at Adam’s school pulling the pigtails of the girls they liked. He did not want to think his dad was that emotionally incompetent. And his dad teased everybody, Adam could only presume it was to make him feel better about his own insecurities. 

Adam’s monitoring of the situation was interrupted by a very pointed, “ _Psst!_ ”

Adam caught a flash of bouncing hair, and heard the hushed footsteps of Pepper hurrying back to her room. Adam gave the two adults a last assessing look and then went to join Pepper. 

She sat on her bed in her meticulously organised bedroom and gestured for him to take the desk chair. “Well?” she asked before he’d even sat down. "Do you think it worked?" 

Adam had no answers and that was bothering him. He was sure it had worked, that was the thing. There'd been that moment in the corridor at the creepy white house where Pepper’s mum lived. At Crystal Palace there'd been a few moments their parents had been close enough to hold hands. He reconsidered the display in the dining room. Adults were strange, unknowable beings. It’d take forever to untangle what stupid stories his dad and Mr Fell were feeding themselves. 

Adam shrugged. “It’s not because they don’t like each other. At the ice cream place they looked ready to start feeding each other crepes.”

Pepper nibbled her lip. “And when my dad was cleaning lemonade off your dad’s trousers, I thought both their heads would explode.”

“Yes, good aim by the way.” It had been a very good aim. Had hardly looked pre-meditated at all.

“Thank you.” She grinned.

Adam grinned back. “Look, I need to go have my writing lesson. But we can think of something else," Adam assured her. Then in a fit of resigned logic said, "There's no rush now, is there? We get to look after them a while longer, after all."

"But they actually like each other. I know they do." Pepper turned her gaze to the ceiling, throwing up her hands dramatically. “Why haven’t they talked to each other?”

“If you say it’s because they’re men…”

“Your dad said he'll take me for a milkshake while you’re having your lesson. I’m going to confront him.” Pepper stood, her chin turned up to fight the world.

“Tried it earlier. He spat incoherent noises at me and went to shout at his plants.” Adam shook his head. “My dad is the master of avoiding feelings. Honestly, I don’t know what he paid that therapist so much for.”

“Mum always said my dad could never be rushed either. The more you push him the more stubborn he gets.”

“Oh, is that genetic?” Teasing Pepper gave Adam the sense of a job well done. Especially when she stuck her tongue out at him. 

His father yelled his name down the corridor.

“Just coming dad!”

“I’m not paying Mr. Fell so the two of you can chat!” 

“I’m coming!” Adam shrugged at Pepper.

“I’m just sure they like each other.” Pepper had given up on her lip and was now gnawing her fingernail. "Ever since your lessons started one of the characters has been getting more and more like your dad. I mean he was always quite spindly and wiggly, but…”

“Hey!”

“Worried it’s genetic?” she laughed.

“Adam!” his dad yelled, slightly louder.

“I really need to go.”

“I know. I just want them to be happy.” She sounded so lost. It was disconcerting. 

“Me too.” And Adam didn’t trust his Gramma at all. She’d been beaten at the school, that was for certain, but she didn’t take being overruled well. There’d be other battles to fight, and he couldn’t deny that Mr. Fell had been an excellent ally. And he hadn’t seen his dad laugh so much in forever. 

“The thing is.” Pepper studied her jagged nail despondently. “The last few days must have been really stressful for Dad, for Mr. Crowley too. I want to help them, but I don’t want to hurt them like that again. You know?”

Adam nodded. He knew. His Dad had been generally happier the last few days, but the look on his face when Adam had been pulled out of the river had been terrifying. And the talk he'd been subjected to this morning had been the worst. Dad had been so angry that he hadn’t even shouted. Just kept it all incredibly calm with undercurrents of frustrated fear building up behind his eyes and the tightness of his movements. 

Adam had never been so guilty and afraid in his life. Not even when he was actually in the river. “There will be other days out, Peps.”

The glare she shot him warmed his heart. 

“I propose we'll organise one as soon as possible and carry out a thorough reconnaissance,” Adam continued.

“To start with?” Pepper asked.

“To start with,” Adam agreed. Then his dad howled his name like a dying banshee. 

“I really must…”

Pepper interrupted him with a hug so rib crushing desperate that he nearly expired on the spot. Fortunately it was short and to the point. 

“Go?” Pepper finished for him. “Go on then.”

Adam went. 

  
  


Overall, taking Pepper out for a milkshake had gone rather better than Crowley had expected. She hadn’t been overly impressed with his outfit, granted, but equally, she hadn’t commented on the amount of time he must have spent on his hair to get it so artfully tousled. 

This was all good, as Crowley suspected that he had spent rather longer preening for this date with an eleven year old than he would have done for one with her father. He’d not been this desperate to impress since his _Albion_ audition. More desperate, actually, as there were much higher stakes. 

This was partly because she was Aziraphale’s daughter, of course, but also because she was sharp witted and smart, and very much not intimidated by the actor Anthony J. Crowley, which was as refreshing as it was disconcerting. 

Dare Crowley admit that he’d enjoyed himself?

Dare he admit that the second phase of his plan to woo the bookseller had gone according to plan?

It was with a distinct bounce in his step that he returned to the flat above the bookshop, Pepper tearing off ahead to give her dad a smacking kiss on the cheek and vanish into the kitchen. Crowley allowed himself a more decorous entrance, lounging in the doorway to take in the heart warming sight of Adam and Aziraphale, heads bent together over Adam’s laptop while they murmured about the practical logistics of giant bug armies. 

This left Aziraphale’s laptop alone and unguarded at the end of the table. Crowley slunk towards it, pulse jumping. He rested one hand casually on the awful lace table cloth, and peered down at the neatly formatted paragraph’s of Times New Roman text. 

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed, which wouldn’t do at all. Crowley, leaned down more obviously and began scrolling. “Are they at the Globe?”

“No spoilers!” Aziraphale pounced, elbowing Crowley out of the way, and began frantically minimising windows. 

“Let me test drive it for you." Crowley retreated, but not so much that Aziraphale's backside wasn't still pressed snugly against his thigh. 

“You don't read books." Aziraphale snapped. He lowered the laptop lid and turned to face Crowley, working himself up into quite the fit. 

“Read your books." Crowley deployed his most charming red carpet smile.

He was rewarded with a blush and Aziraphale looking at him like he may have just hung the stars. “Still. Dreadfully rude, dear boy.”

Adam watched them carefully. Equally carefully, Crowley backed away from Aziraphale. He cleared his throat. 

“Dad,” Pepper came back from the kitchen holding a glass of water. “Something’s burning.”

“The dauphinoise!” Aziraphale fled the room. Pepper followed. 

“They’ll probably need help setting the table.” Adam sighed. He looked pointedly at Crowley. 

“I’ll come help in a bit. Gonna start by tidying up in here first.” He pointedly toed at Adam’s backpack which had been abandoned under the table.

Adam gave him a look that suggested that Crowley was fooling no one and that if he were caught it would very much be his funeral, and left the room. Crowley still had the decency to hesitate. It wasn't like he was going to tell anyone the spoilers, was he? And he wouldn't have time to read much. Just check his two favorite immortal beings were OK. He was annoyed how much he cared about that, to be honest. All emotions he was lately. Best just check. Settle the brain gremlins. 

Crowley glanced at the kitchen door and flipped up the laptop's lid. 

Sneaky angel had closed the word document, which drew Crowley's attention to the internet tabs that were open. The logo of one in particular caught Crowley’s eye. 

_Huh_. 

He had been aware of fandom since _Albion_. There was even a stage when chat show hosts would bring it up for laughs. Crowley had tried not to laugh or be awkward. The art was always so good, and he’d been honoured that someone was that passionate about something he’d played a part in. 

This was Aziraphale though. Why was Aziraphale reading…? Oh! The words were less polished and precise, but the style, the amused yet loving tone was undeniably Aziraphale. It was also heart breaking, romantic filth about the Black and White Knights of Albion getting it on after a particularly violent joust.

Crowley minimised the window, stepping back as though he’d been burned. 

“Were you reading his book?” Adam had come back, clutching an assortment of cutlery to his chest. 

“No, course not,” Crowley said with complete honesty. "Just moving the laptop off the table."

Damn his stupid self. Crowley had never been able to leave things well enough alone. He had to pick and prod and hound things until they fell apart under the strain. And now he had to get through bloody dinner. 

Dinner was a cakewalk for a BAFTA nominee. Course it was. Nothing to see at all. He'd had worse press conferences. Crowley managed it without either drinking too much or grabbing Aziraphale by the lapels and asking if it had all been a ruse to scratch the itch of some latent fantasy he was harbouring. 

The idea that was the reason for everything between them left a chasm behind Crowley's ribs. Voices inside it whispered that of course it wasn't him Aziraphale wanted. Why would Aziraphale want him when the Black Knight of bloody Albion was so much cooler? So much more than too many insecurities held in check by tight jeans and sunglasses? In short, everything Anthony J. Crowley wished he was and knew he could only pretend to be. 

Crowley got through dinner and made it home. He even managed Adam's bed time before he began filling that chasm inside him with wine and rubbish television . 

At about ten-thirty Crowley caved and pulled up Aziraphale’s fanfiction account on his phone. (He had noted the user name, of course. Good memory. Good observation skills. Couldn’t help it.)

It was an old account. Nothing new for ages. That had to mean something, surely? That maybe things had moved on? Maybe Aziraphale had moved on?

And Aziraphale had been going through some stuff back then, hadn't he? All sorts of reasons people wrote fanfiction. 

The _Return to Albion_ fics looked mostly kind of sweet, judging by the summaries, but Crowley had got on well with the guy who’d played the White Knight. Still met up sometimes when their schedules aligned. His wife sent Crowley Christmas cards. Yep, give those fics a miss, thank you very much. 

Then he found the _Pimpernel_ fics. There were quite a few _Pimpernel_ fics. A tiny little BBC drama with only one season surely hadn't been that inspirational? 

Aziraphale's contribution to this suprisingly robust fandom had some very obvious recurring themes, and some significant projection of the author onto original characters, if Crowley was any judge. And, knowing the original source material for said original characters as he did, Crowley felt rather confident to judge mercilessly.

The one with the chains left him rather flustered.

“The show where the Bastille was still standing in 1793.” Crowley mimicked. “Cheeky bastard.” 

There was quite a collection, mostly short, mostly smutty. Crowley poured himself another glass of wine and settled in to read. When he discovered the one with crepe toppings he read it twice. Then turned off the television, nothing good on this close to midnight anyway, and read it again. Having actually witnessed Aziraphale eating crepes, Crowley felt like this one needed some additional consideration. 

Turned out it wasn't the Black Knight Aziraphale wanted after all. 

Crowley wondered if he still had a pair of Armand St Just’s boots stashed in the back of his wardrobe. 

Now, there was a thought.

It wasn’t invading Aziraphale’s privacy, was it? He’d published the things on the internet. Surely Crowley was the injured party here? Or Armand St Just was, anyway, or would be, were he not a fictional character. It wasn’t Crowley Aziraphale’s imagination was destroying one creatively mind blowing orgasm at a time. And if anything, Aziraphale seemed to have a deeper grasp of the character than Crowley ever had. 

Aziraphale gave Armand depths where Crowley had only really paddled in the shallows. He made him a better, more interesting person. 

That was something else to think about. Crowley thought about it as he finished reading the last fic. Then he discarded his latest glass of wine and locked himself in the bathroom. He thought about it as he turned on the shower. He thought about it very slowly and very hard for the next twenty minutes. 


	21. Feel Your Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which any potential conflict is resolved quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a double update as I'd ideally like this all posted by October, I have a rubbish couple of days coming up and I didn't want to leave everybody hanging for another week. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everybody for all the love and support you've shown this fic. 
> 
> Chapter Title from Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

**Soho**

**Friday 6th June**

**The first day of the rest of their lives +5**

Aziraphale wasn’t a fool. He knew somebody had looked at his laptop on Sunday night. And he thought he knew who that person might be. It plagued him as he pretended to dust the book shop, and ignored the washing up from breakfast. The knowledge crept behind him and lurked in corners, ready to pounce as soon as he’d ushered a customer on their way, or finished contemplating which packet of dried pasta in the supermarket was really the best value for money. 

The idea Crowley had seen anything made Aziraphale need to sit down for five minutes and concentrate on just breathing. Still, he’d rather it was Crowley that had looked than Adam. At least Crowley would have some kind of context for what he had seen.

Aziraphale still felt sick about it. He should have deleted his AO3 account months ago. Years ago. He had been going to do it on Sunday before Crowley arrived, that was the frustrating thing. Then he'd started looking at some of the lovely comments people had left, and there had to be a way to save those, hadn't there? He’d been google searching when Adam had asked about bug armies, and he’d got rather carried away with the challenge of describing them and...blast it. 

Alright then, he was a fool. 

A complete, idiotic fool. 

Friday rolled towards him with all the deathly speed of a boulder coming down hill, and it still managed to take forever to arrive. 

There were still conversations with Crowley on the phone, thank goodness. 

Some interview questions Aziraphale had been asked to write answers to for a magazine. ( _ They can't actually expect me to choose between tea and cocoa can they? It all depends on the scene I'm writing _ .) Which voice Aziraphale preferred for a character in a book Crowley was recording. ( _ I want to change it. Should I change it _ ?) 

Everything seemed normal. Maybe Aziraphale was worrying about nothing. Maybe nothing had been seen. But he couldn't shake how careful Crowley's voice sounded, as though each word were being measured out. 

Typical of Aziraphale to muck something up just by doing the absolute bare minimum of being himself. And he was about to make it worse. As he stood on the threshold of Friday night, he knew he should have stopped after opening the wine. Maybe after laying out the olives. You needed something to nibble with wine, but the cheese and crackers as well? And the chocolate torte in the fridge? He silenced the stereo quietly playing _Salut_ _d'amour_ and began carrying things down to the bookshop's back room. 

Less intimate down there. More space to breathe. Aziraphale's eye caught the sofa with it's rumpled blankets and he was beset with memories of the first time he'd sat there with Crowley. 

He froze, swamped by the sharp rush of wanting and being desired in return. This would absolutely not do! Aziraphale checked his watch and started piling nibbles back on the tray so he could take them back up to the flat. The shop's bell dinged. It was only a small relief that this wasn't followed by the rattle of the broken blind falling down. 

Crowley called out. Frozen like a rabbit in the glare of its own impending doom, Aziraphale assessed his options. There was a clear view from back room to front door and vice versa so nipping out through the delivery area and hiding out in the Admiral Duncan pub wasn't on the cards. 

"In here," Aziraphale called back. He put down the tray of nibbles like the sensible grown up he most definitely was. 

Crowley sauntered over. His hands were thrust in his back pockets and he hovered by the desk, not running away in horror, but not fully committing to staying either. He lurked, like a harbinger of bad news. Terribly unfair that this didn’t make him look any less attractive, just more romantically Gothic. 

“Well,” Aziraphale adjusted his waistcoat. "How was the drive over?" Dear God, he'd be talking about the weather next. Still, Crowley was here. That was the important thing.

"Not bad. Got here before it started spitting a bit out there." Crowley scuffed his toe on the rug. 

Crowley was probably here to end it all. Whatever  _ it _ had the potential to be. 

"Wine!" Aziraphale poured and handed a glass over. "I have cheese too, or olives. Crisps…" 

"This is good, thanks," Crowley babbled. He swallowed. "Here's to a night off then."

"Yes."

The rims of their glasses clinked. Crowley drank. He drank some more. Aziraphale matched him until both of them had swallowed what was a very nice glass of wine far more quickly than it deserved. 

Slightly light headed already, Aziraphale topped up both glasses and they sat down on the sofa, carefully, not touching. He should have put the radio on first. Anything to detract from the uncoiling silence. 

Crowley had both hands on his glass, long fingers wrapped round the bowl. He glanced at Aziraphale nervously. 

This was awful. Aziraphale couldn't stand it. "Is something wrong?" The words rushed out of him, unchecked. 

Crowley leaned back slightly, as though slapped. "Not really, just, erm, ok, just wondering really. You don’t have to answer, only, did you ever, I mean, did you write anything else ever, before  _ Hell and Holy Water _ ?" 

"Not really," Aziraphale hedged. He sipped his wine, resisting the urge to just tip head first into the glass like it was a barrel of malmsey. "I mean, some odds and ends. Had a few stories published in the student paper at university." 

The crushing weight of Crowley's jagged gaze didn't waiver. “Oh.”

He sounded almost disappointed. Aziraphale was disappointed in himself too. Might as well get it over with. At least there was an entire chocolate torte upstairs with his name on it. Aziraphale made himself look up. "That's not what you mean, is it?” 

Crowley shook his head. 

This was not going well. Not that Crowley had ever dared hope it would go down any other way. 

Aziraphale was bravely staring at a point just beyond Crowley’s left ear, fingers playing with the stem of his glass. "Why don't you tell me what you do mean then?" He said quietly.

The truth was like stones on his tongue. Crowley wanted to apologise for looking. He wanted to apologise for what happened afterwards in the shower. He managed, “The other day when I brought Pepper back, I may have peeked at your laptop.”

Aziraphale didn’t blush. He paled, returning his glass of wine carefully to the corner of his desk. “And you saw the scene at the Globe?”

“Yeah.” Crowley’s gaze fixed on the floor. “No, urm, other stuff. On the internet.” He hated this. Served him right though, didn’t it? Always questioning. It’s what drove people away. He should have just wanked in the shower and let it go. What did it matter really? A couple of silly, wonderful, sexy fics floating around in the vastness of the internet.

Except that Crowley did still have those boots. He’d checked. They still fit him too. He wet his lips. 

“And you read…?” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and his voice was hoarse.

“All of them. Not here, but looked them up at home.” Crowley’s cheeks warmed. 

“Oh, Lord. The one with the…?

“Crepe toppings. Yep.” 

“And the...?” 

“Chains. Also yes.” 

“Oh, good Lord!” Aziraphale covered his face with his hands.

Crowley should have planned his apology in advance. He steeled himself for rejection. God, he was a creep. And yes, it was undeniably weird for him too, but it wasn't him those stories were about. Not really. 

He was annoyed that he would have rather liked it if some of them were. Not that he'd necessarily want them on the Internet though. There was far too much there to unpack still, but he wanted to do the exploring of it with Aziraphale. That hadn't changed, he was sure of it. 

When Aziraphale managed to look at him again, it was with a resolve that made Crowley quiver all the way down to his toes. 

“I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable,” Azirapahle spoke slowly as through finding his way out of a dark tunnel, “but they were appropriately tagged. And.. And when I wrote them I was going through some personal confusion and you should know that your work and me writing about it helped a very great deal.”

“It’s fine.” Crowley heard himself say. He even sounded like a rational adult for once. “I mean kind of weird to start with because, you know, it was you who’d written it. Then it wasn’t so weird. Quite the opposite  _ because _ it was you who’d written it. Very much not weird. Kind of, erm.” He took a big gulp of wine. “Hot, actually.”

Aziraphale watched him nervously. Mostly nervous. There was also a little bit of bastard in his eyes. A little bit of hopeful bastard who was busy working things out.

This was going to be ok. They could fix this. Crowley's stomach began to unknot. 

“And to think I didn't even think you were a fan.” Crowley drank some more, tried to appear casual despite his leaping pulse. 

“Yes, actually. Quite a bit of a fan,” Aziraphale said carefully. “That was, of course, before I actually met you.”

Crowley grinned. He could be a bastard too. “Is my neck really like a gorgeous sweep of temptation?”

There was the blush. Faintest pink crawling over Aziraphale’s cheekbones.

“Hush. Your ego really needs no more fuel.”

Crowley was giddy, he put down his glass to avoid spillages and leaned into Aziraphale's space, one arm obnoxiously thrown along the back off the sofa. “So, just for reference, you don't actually want me to chain you to a bed until you fall apart beneath my wicked tongue?”

Aziraphale sniffed. He did not move away. “Forgive me but I have rather unfortunate memories of the last time you restrained me.” 

“And before I restrained you? How was that?” 

“Crowley.” Not quite a protest, a  _ we shouldn't, but I want to.  _

“Aziraphale.” A _ why not, if we both want to?  _

Aziraphale smiled that worried little smile. His gaze flicked to Crowley's face and away. He glanced back just as Crowley licked his lips again.

The kiss happened suddenly. A mutual lunge that ended with clicking teeth and bumped noses until Aziraphale got a hand in Crowley’s hair, shifting him just where he wanted him. It had been too long since they’d done this. Crowley was itchy and fidgety and he wanted more of it. Wanted to be the hero claiming his reward after the last minute rescue. 

The kiss bloomed into another, and another. Crowley dragged his mouth to Aziraphale's jaw. He ran his fingers down Aziraphale’s neck and tasted the softness behind his ear.

Aziraphale whimpered. He twisted Crowley's hair. 

Crowley found his mouth again. "Is this alright? This what you want? Is it me you want?" 

Aziraphale pulled away. His eyes searched Crowley's, although for a moment it looked like he was checking for something inside himself. 

"Yes. I want you. Come to bed with me." He got up, hand held out. 

Thank anyone who was listening. Crowley stood, heart thudding furiously. This was happening. He could have this. 

It wasn’t what  _ he _ wanted. At least not all that he wanted. He stopped, tugging on Aziraphale’s hand. The other man half turned, head tilted. 

Crowley held his breath and stepped off the precipice. "Just, 'fore we do. This is real, right? I mean it's a thing. Not just because we’re angry or stressed or whatever. It's a thing. We're a thing. Item."

"Is that what you'd like? To be a thing? With me?" Aziraphale’s voice shook ever so slightly. He couldn't hide an emotion if he tried, yet had successfully kept his fanfiction a secret for months. Crowley nodded. Aziraphale blinked as he looked down at their clasped hands." Oh!"

Crowley braced for rejection again, but the way Aziraphale looked back at him, eyes bright and unbelieving suggested this wasn't because Crowley was broken, but that Aziraphale was too. Aziraphale who thought he was too soft, silly and fussy for anyone to take seriously. For anyone to want seriously. 

"I'm afraid," Aziraphale said quietly. “I’ve never really…I mean, since Effie, I’ve not really tried long term. And, I think you might be my best friend, I don’t want to lose that. I’m afraid, Crowley.”

Of what he felt, of what it could mean, of what the fall out would be if it didn’t work. Oh, Crowley knew that because it was a giant bubble behind his ribs, too.

He ran his thumb over Aziraphale's knuckles. “And I'm not afraid? Why do you think I call you angel?”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. “If you say it's because I'm divine so help me...I will smite you!”

“Nah, it’s because you put the fear of God into me. I'm too old to be having these feelings, not sure what to do with them anymore. It’s just, I want to try. The world’s a better place with you. I’m better.” There was no other reason for him to be this brave, hand his battered bleeding heart over on a plate. 

Best say no more though. Don't push. Don't be needy. Aziraphale would run. A few months ago, Crowley wouldn't have cared. Too much effort, anyway. He wanted this, though, like a hunger. And not just Aziraphale, either. He wanted crepes and ice cream and trips to see dinosaurs. He wanted to make Pepper's eyes roll and the way that Adam listened to Aziraphale in the way he never had with Crowley. The whole messy, complicated package. He'd endure a conversation with his agent and everything.

"I want to stay, angel." Crowley said firmly. 

“Stay?” Aziraphale still looked like he'd just jumped from a great height and hadn't quite landed yet. He blinked, then his hands tightened on Crowley's “Yes stay. Stay the night. Or Forever. Please. If you’d like to."

Crowley was going to make an idiot of himself. The joyous laugh constricted his throat. He managed to turn it into, “I’d like to.”

Aziraphale did laugh. His hands swept to Crowley’s face, his lips to Crowley’s nose. They stumbled back until Crowley’s back hit the desk. Aziraphale didn’t stop. Crowley's heart dipped, actually fucking dipped, as Aziraphale lifted him up on to the desk. There was a pencil sharpener or something digging into his thigh, but he didn’t care because his legs were round Aziraphale’s waist and Aziraphale was kissing him. Actually kissing him like a promise, and he’d lifted Crowley on to the fucking desk like he weighed nothing. 

And, to think, he’d wanted to be the one sweeping Aziraphale off his feet. Who’d have known being the one being manhandled could be so much fun. 

“The blind! People will see.” Aziraphale half turned, looking past the shelves to the shop door. 

“Nah, dark out there. Nearly, Erm.. ”Crowley waved his hand in the general direction of outside, clicking his fingers as his brain struggled. "Midnight. Practically."

The blind unfurled, bouncing and clacking until it had rolled down over the door's window. 

“Did I do that?” Crowley inspected his fingers. 

“I don't think so," Aziraphale mused. "I’ve been meaning to fix it for quite a while.”

“You can fix me. Right now, if you’d like.” Crowley grinned. 

"Darling, you're perfect. Now come to bed."


	22. Blow Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some very silly smut and snuggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Killer Queen, 
> 
> Thank you as always to [Jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/works)
> 
> And to all of you reading. Just one more chapter after this. Hoping to have it up on Sunday.

**Soho**

**Friday 6th June**

**The first day of the rest of their lives +5**

Crowley had come to believe that the bookshop and the flat above were somewhere between a domestic nest designed to welcome people in and a huge, complex labyrinth designed to do the exact opposite. 

He wasn't entirely sure Aziraphale would be flattered by either comparison. Aziraphale's bedroom was definitely the labyrinth's centre though. Being taken there, fingers entwined with the owner, made Crowley feel like he'd just completed a quest. 

It wasn't a large space, no space in the flat was, but there was room for a double bed with an antique wooden headboard. It was made up with sheets and cushions of cream and blue. All soft with age, but well looked after and carefully repaired when they'd needed it. A wardrobe. A bedside table cluttered with reading glasses and a precarious stack of books. A watercolour of ducks in St James Park on the wall. A battered, leather valise hurriedly toed under the bed before Aziraphale turned to face him, hands already undoing his bow tie. 

The room smelled of lemon and book dust. A hint of tea tannins and dark chocolate. 

Intimate. More intimate than expected. Crowley wanted to be like everything in this room, treasured and stitched back together. 

Aziraphale worked on his waistcoat buttons, gaze flicking between them and Crowley in surprised, hungry peeks. Crowley stripped off his own jacket folding it neatly atop an existing pile of laundry. Amazing how calm he felt at his core, despite the way his nerves jumped in anticipation. 

Aziraphale was stuck with one of his waistcoat buttons. Crowley stepped in close. His palms smoothed over the velvet before he plucked the button open. 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale's voice shook a bit.

“It’s nothing. I want you naked, angel, don’t I?” Then because Crowley was feeling too intense, and wanted to lighten the mood. Because he was always better when there was a script to work from said, “You were lucky I was in the area.”

Aziraphale glanced up. There was a slight frown between his brows, a pursing of his lips. Oh shit. Did he think Crowley was taking the piss?

His hands covered Crowley's. "Darling, just in case I didn’t make myself clear earlier, it's you I want. Ever since you barged rudely into my shop wearing that ridiculous baseball cap, I think."

Crowley had been sure. Practically. He’d never get tired of hearing it though. Needy, he couldn’t help it. "I know.” He swallowed, made himself smile. “Couldn’t joke about it otherwise.”

"You're joking?" Aziraphale said very quietly. 

Crowley's tongue became too thick for his mouth. Should he mention the boots? Was that too soon? 

Aziraphale eye's searched Crowley’s a moment more, then in a peevish, aristocratic drawl that went straight to Crowley’s cock, replied, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Aziraphale was going to wake up any minute now. Things like this did not happen to him. Then Crowley pressed Aziraphale's hands back into the down pillow and whispered. “You're supposed to be chained up, angel, remember?”

And Aziraphale knew he wasn't dreaming. If he were dreaming, he wouldn't be so obviously aroused already, would have more of a witty comeback than, “I’m supposed to be sitting down too."

“Consider this creative interpretation. Your knees will thank me.” Crowley wriggled down Aziraphale’s body, un-popping buttons and shifting fabric. His quick, warm, hands pushed open Aziraphale’s shirt so his mouth could explore.

Aziraphale squeezed the pillow behind his head in his fists. "Right about your wicked tongue, I see."

"My tongue and I are just getting started." Crowley slid further down so he could tug off Aziraphale's trousers. 

Crowley, to Aziraphale’s delight, at least made a go of folding them properly. A tantalising glimpse of chest was revealed as Crowley twisted away to put the trousers down. Aziraphale regretted not being quicker with those shirt buttons before he'd been caught. 

Crowley turned back, his gaze making Aziraphale squirm, his grin was sin incarnate. He hooked a hand under Aziraphale's left knee, lifting his leg and moving it outwards for further inspection. “Bloody sock garters. Knew it."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes in what he hoped was dismissive arrogance. 

“Didn’t say I didn’t like them." Crowley's fingers trailed upwards, almost tickling. "I’m leaving them on. You’ve got nice legs.” 

Warm breath touched Aziraphale's stomach. He obligingly lifted his hips so Crowley could drag his underwear off too. 

“Could get you some proper eighteenth century tights," Crowley pondered. 

“Stockings," Aziraphale insisted. Pedantry was something to hang on to, something to delay his inevitable drowning in this sea of sensation. Half naked and exposed for inspection. Just how closely had Crowley been reading his fics anyway? 

“Even better then." Crowley nipped his hip. Just hard enough to hurt. "Someone in the costume department owes me a favour. Would you like that? Being all dressed up like a cupcake so I could make a mess of eating you?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to keep himself together before the vision of Crowley's head between his legs, his mouth working close to his cock undid him completely. And his tongue was truly delightful. Aziraphale arched of the bed as he was licked messily from root to tip. 

"I've owed you that since the Premier Inn. Escaping before I could taste you." The vibrations of Crowley's voice made Aziraphale quiver. His breathing ran away with him. Crowley licked him again, pushed his legs wider. The bed creaked as Crowley moved, leaving Aziraphale momentarily spread out and shameless. 

He may have shuffled his legs further apart. Just to get comfier. 

“And the bed and breakfast." Crowley had miracled up some lube from somewhere. A slick fingertip teased Aziraphale's entrance. "Touching yourself like that. Making those noises. Didn't even let me watch.”

“No idea you had such strong opinions… Oh lordy!” Having just dared to open his eyes again, Aziraphale turned his face into his arm as his hips pushed up, chasing the friction of Crowley’s fingers, the teasing heat of his mouth on his inner thigh. The way Crowley’s shirt stretched over those slim shoulders was devilish. 

"You alright, angel?" Crowley pushed a finger slowly inside him. 

"Oh, fuck  _ yes!" _

Crowley laughed. It was probably supposed to be akin to the St Just cackle, but it was more beautifully Crowley than anything else. “Good. Be as loud as you like. No one coming to save you. No one is going to hear you. No one except me and I'm going you take you apart with my wicked tongue.” 

"Very wicked, yes. Wicked, naughty….ah!“ Aziraphale couldn't think straight with that tongue on him. "I can't remember the next line.” Something about foul fiends probably.

“Improvise,” Crowley said, which was monstrously unfair as he then swallowed Aziraphale's cock down and began to suck every single word out of his head. 

Pleasure twisted in the base of Aziraphale's spine, pulling everything taut with need. His arms twitched, hands moving, desperate to get his fingers in Crowley's hair, to hold him still as he thrust his hips into that beautiful mouth. 

Crowley's rhythm didn't falter as he slapped the outside of Aziraphale's leg. Aziraphale put his hands back above his head, taking his frustration out on the pillow, tugging at it and biting his lip. 

Crowley paused, he released Aziraphale's cock lapping at the head before he met his eyes. The movement of Crowley's fingers working inside him didn't stop, crooking slightly to keep Aziraphale just at the edge of madness. “For the record, if you want to come in my mouth I will be very ok with that.”

Crowley's lips were dark and slick, his smile smug before he went back to work. Desire was a tidal wave rolling through Aziraphale, battering him against a cliff face. He came in Crowley’s mouth. Loudly. It was bloody amazing. He saw stars.

Aziraphale drifted back down into his body and realised something was tickling his nose. Crowley leant over him picking a feather out of Aziraphale's hair.

The pillow Aziraphale had been gripping was a lost cause. White down was stuck to his chest. 

“What’d I do to your wings, angel?” Crowley laughed as another feather drifted down on to his head. 

Aziraphale took a moment to mourn the destruction of what had been a very comfortable pillow. Still, no use crying over spilled feathers, not with a partially naked and smiling Crowley still hovering above him. 

“How dare you still be dressed?” Aziraphale flipped them over, straddling Crowley's legs and getting his hands on those ridiculously tight trousers.

Crowley groaned with relief as they came undone. It was a team effort getting them down. The squirming in itself was rather enjoyable. 

“You’re supposed to be chained up.” Crowley was breathless as Aziraphale broke from kissing him to suck at the jumping skin between his collar bones. 

“Creative interpretation, yes?” Aziraphale grinned triumphantly when he found the lubricant in the tangled sheets. 

Crowley's thighs tensed as Aziraphale stroked him. His head flopping back on the bed. "Not going to last," Crowley growled, hands raking through his hair. 

Aziraphale sat back on his haunches, just watching. It was a beautiful view of Crowley’s lean chest and stomach. Crowley’s gorgeous, leaking cock in Aziraphale’s hand. "Good. You look so lovely when you come. Your eyes are so naked."

"My eyes are what's naked?" Crowley huffed a laugh which tailed off into a moan. His fingers dug into the sheets. 

"Hush." Aziraphale pressed his forehead against Crowley's, gaze holding his. "You took such good care of me." 

Crowley's hips bucked. He wrapped a hand round Aziraphale's, sticky fingers linking as they stroked his cock. Not even kissing, just sharing breath as Crowley gasped, spine lifting off the bed as he came gasping obscenities and Aziraphale's name. 

Aziraphale lay down next to him, their hands still linked. "Stay," he said again. "Promise."

Crowley rolled over, flinging a leg across Aziraphale's thigh and nuzzled his shoulder. "Nothing's dragging me away. Stuck with me now, angel."

Aziraphale floated in a cloud of bliss. There was a naked chest tight against his back and an arm thrown possessively over his waist. It was too warm under the duvet, but soft and fluffy, and he didn't want to lose Crowley's steady breath on the back of his neck for anything. Aziraphale caught the hand splayed on his chest and kissed it's knuckles. 

"Morning, angel."

Aziraphale's heart blossomed. "You're still here." He snuggled closer. "A definite improvement over last time."

"Snarky in the morning, I see." A kiss landed at the top of Aziraphale’s spine, slow and possessive.

Aziraphale's attempt to roll over and defend himself was halted as Crowley pressed tight against his back. "Comfy."

It was comfy. Aziraphale allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and luxuriate in just exactly how comfortable it was. The clock on the bedside table was ticking relentlessly, and heartlessly, towards half past seven. Aziraphale sighed. "Dearest, Harriet's dropping Pepper off here at nine on the way to Warlock's Latin tutor, and you need to pick up Adam before then."

Crowley groaned, mattress creaking as he flopped onto his back, arms thrown over his face. “Nope. Didn’t hear you. Not happening.”

Aziraphale wriggled on to his stomach, resting his chin on his hands so he could fully take in the naked Crowley stretched out in his bed. His heart was still misbehaving. Trembling bounces and flutters while the rest of him caught up with events. 

Crowley’s arm shifted so one golden eye peered up at him. "What?" 

"Nothing." Aziraphale knew his smile was ridiculous. Probably edging into screaming fanboy territory. Didn’t really matter now though, did it? After last night he was practically  _ allowed _ .

"Liar," Crowley growled.

Aziraphale had long accepted that things like this really didn’t happen to him. But, then he’d thought that when Ineffable Publishing had taken on his first  _ Elder Souls _ manuscript too. When he’d first held the red, screaming bundle of his daughter in the hospital. It was the same slow drop into bottomless disbelief. The same mad joy verging on hysteria. It was clearly time to adjust his outlook on life. Apparently things like this  _ did _ happen to him. Quite frequently. He continued to smile, and look and just enjoy without worrying about whether or not his happiness was deserved. 

“Stop it.” Crowley said from beneath his arm. “You’re being weird.”

"It's only, you're in my bed," Aziraphale smiled more. "You."

"Yes, me. Thanks for noticing." Crowley's smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

Aziraphale brushed his lips over the places where Crowley's dimples hid. Because he could. Crowley's hand gripped his hair bringing their mouths together. They shuffled closer to each other. Hips aligned beneath the heavy covers, fingers pressed and swept over bare skin. 

"Hmmm. The children." Aziraphale whispered. "And we should erm, probably make a strategy for, you know if you wanted to, telling them we're..." 

Crowley's eyebrow quirked. "We're..?" 

"Together," Aziraphale whispered, embarrassed despite the fact they were both already naked and getting slightly sweaty. "Romantically involved."

"If you say courting..." 

"A  _ thing _ , as you so eloquently put it last night. I mean, if you want to wait, see how things pan out, that's fine, but we'll still need to plan. They're not daft and..." 

Crowley's fingers pressed against Aziraphale's mouth. "Stop over thinking." He twisted his torso, hooking his phone off the bedside table. 

He shushed Aziraphale's questions as he dialled. 

"Hi, Harriet! How was it last night? Cool, yeah m'fine. Something's come up this morning... " Crowley's free hand slid to Aziraphale’s arse. 

Aziraphale choked down a squawk as Crowley rolled his hips upwards, effectively demonstrating exactly what was in the process of coming up this morning. 

"Yeah, you know how it is." Crowley grinned lavaciously. 

Not to be outdone, Aziraphale ran the pad of his thumb along Crowley's bottom lip, and was rewarded by his voice breaking as he said, "Yeah, of course. If you could drop Adam at the bookshop… "

Aziraphale slid his thumb into Crowley's mouth. 

"... Wid Pebber…" Crowley tried to look annoyed. It was incredibly cute. 

Aziraphale slowly removed his thumb, sliding it down Crowley’s chin.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Something in my mouth." Crowley's face contorted to hold in either a laugh or a moan. Aziraphale scrunched his nose at Crowley and wriggled further down his body, taking the stifling duvet with him. There was so much skin he wanted to re-explore now it was light. Smooth skin stretched over sharp lines and angles. He began mapping Crowley out with his lips and tongue, a little brush of teeth where he proved to be particularly tempting. 

" Oh you're a doll, Harriet" Crowley garbled."Owe you one. Ciao. "

The phone clattered as it hit the bedside table. Crowley arched as he sunk back into the pillows. His fingernails dragged over Aziraphale's scalp. He was openly laughing now, voice ragged. "Bastard."

"You started it." Aziraphale rubbed his cheek against the trail of hair on Crowley's stomach. 

Crowley hummed. "We can tell the kids here." He lifted Aziraphale's head looking steadily into his eyes. "I mean not  _ here _ here, but in the flat. Or take them out somewhere. Whatever you like. Hey, look at me. I want to be with you. Don't want to hide it."

Aziraphale's heart was all off kilter again. He knew he was smiling again. He doubted he'd ever be able to stop. "Alright. I'd like that. Yes."

Crowley smiled back. "Now," he said firmly. "I started something that you were about to finish?" 

Aziraphale glanced at the clock. It was fine. They had time now. 


	23. Never Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for indulging me. I've been honoured by the love you've all shown this fic. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [Jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/works) for the beta too and making this fic better. 
> 
> Title from Bohemian Rhapsody (saving the big guns until last)

**Soho**

**Saturday 7th June.**

**The actual first day of the rest of their lives**

Pepper liked Warlock. She hadn't right away, but then she'd got to know his mother and they had bonded firmly over feeling less important than a phone call. 

Mrs. Dowling chatted away about booking so and so or such and such for a fundraiser she was planning while London crawled slowly by the tinted windows at the speed of Saturday morning gridlock. 

Warlock looked mortified by this inattention, and tried to hide it by showing Adam and Pepper which of the limos cupboards held the snacks. 

Yes, beneath the social awkwardness and the dubious style choices that made him look like the star of a 70s horror film, Warlock was a sensitive, if somewhat intense boy who had lots of interesting insights. Pepper was glad to be his friend. She'd decided he needed friends or he was in very real danger of becoming a super villain. 

Still on her phone, Mrs. Dowling chivvied Adam and Pepper across the Soho street and banged on the shop's door. She checked her watch. Decided on mushroom canapés over prawns and banged again. 

There was a thump from inside the shop, and a tumbling crash that sounded rather like a landslide of books coming to a rest. 

Somebody who looked very like Pepper's dad jerked open the bookshop door. 

The father imposter had clearly thrown on the first clothes he'd scooped off the bedroom floor. He was unshaved, tieless and his hair stood straight up on end. He smiled at Mrs Dowling, and it was luminous. "Gosh, is it nine already?" 

"Eleven minutes past." Child delivery done, Mrs. Dowling ran back across the road. 

Pepper’s dad turned his happiness at them. Not the everyday content that he carried as he puttered around the shop humming Gilbert and Sullivan, but proper, mad joy. 

It hurt to look at. 

"Hello, sweetheart."

Pepper blinked up at the sunny apparition as he hurried them in off the street. 

A stack of books had overbalanced. Her father seemed less perturbed by this than the feather stuck to the rug. 

"They've got everywhere." Her dad picked it up and looked around for something to do with it before shoving it in his trouser pocket. "Did you both have a good time?" 

"Yes, thank you," said Adam, as Pepper apparently only had one way to communicate, and that was blinking. 

"I was making pancakes," her dad wittered on. 

Pepper gave Adam a worried look as they followed her dad's scandalously bare feet upstairs to the tiny kitchen. 

Making pancakes clearly meant thinking about making pancakes as he had only just started pulling things out of cupboards. "Have you had breakfast?" he asked, distracted by a choice of frying pans. 

Pepper hoisted herself up to sit on the counter top in the corner, reaching behind her for the spatula and handing it over as her dad bustled past. 

Adam tucked himself out of the way next to Pepper's legs. "I could eat pancakes," Adam said and waggled his eyebrows up at Pepper. 

"What?" she mouthed. 

"Shower!" Adam mouthed back. 

As soon as Pepper registered the distant rush of water, it stopped. 

Adam's eyebrows were still jumping like a pair of overexcited caterpillars. 

Pepper's stomach flipped. "No!" she whispered. 

Adam nodded, his grin unbridled. 

"There's lemon and sugar, or honey. Chocolate spread. I could slice a banana or there may be some..." Her dad's voice trailed off. He stood by the open fridge with a punnet of strawberries clutched to his heart and his eyes on the kitchen door. 

Adam’s arm wrapped around Pepper's legs, his hand squeezing her knee as he squeaked in excitement, remembered he thought of himself as the ‘mature one’ and bit his lip to hide it. 

Mr. Crowley still had shower-damp hair. He was wearing one of her dad's shirts over his trousers. He had the decency to look wary as he met Pepper's eyes. 

Pepper was sure she didn't look at all hospitable. Wanting something to happen, and then being confronted with the unbendable reality of having it actually happen and all the things it entailed was something very different. 

Pepper found herself fighting the very real urge to grab Mr. Crowley by the elbow, march him straight outside and demand to know what his intentions towards her father were. 

"Morning kid. Pepper." Mr. Crowley managed to meet her eyes. Pepper lifted her eyebrow at him. 

Mr. Crowley lifted his eyebrow straight back. He also blushed faintly and it endeared him to Pepper immensely. 

The Talk could wait. It could wait until at least after pancakes. 

"I made you coffee," Pepper's dad said, breathless and rather fluttery. 

He looked so happy. Ridiculously so. Embarrassingly so. Pepper would have to make sure that the pair of them were never seen at the school gate together. Ever. 

"Thanks," Mr. Crowley smiled. It was unguarded. Rather soppy too. Appearing so incredibly uncool was a good look on him. Pepper planned to tell him so, probably for Christmas, with photographic evidence to back it up. She’d get to spend Christmas with Adam! They could share ghost stories and board games on Christmas Eve, and go sledging. There’d be snow this year, she was sure of it. 

Her planning was interrupted by the realisation that neither adult had moved. They’d managed to force their gazes away from each other and were now focused on her and Adam. They looked guilty, and hopeful, and just slightly scared. Slightly scared, Pepper considered, was a very good emotional state for them to be in. 

“Well?” Pepper asked Adam. “What do you think?”

All attention turned to Adam. He sighed, and shrugged a shoulder. This did nothing to disguise his fingers still digging into Pepper’s knee. “I suppose I can live with it. You?”

Pepper tutted. “I suppose. If you get on and kiss each other good morning already! Honestly, do we have to organise everything?”

“Pepper!” Her dad gasped, all half genuine outrage and fluster.

Mr. Crowley’s response was much more favourable. He barked with shocked laughter. “Why you…!”

Pepper wasn’t fooled by that. The pair of them engaged in another eyebrow challenge, then Mr. Crowley obligingly crowded her dad up against the still open fridge. Her dad gasped again, then went silent as the punnet of strawberries hit the floor. 

Adam wahooed.

Pepper, determined to keep a modicum of decorum rolled her eyes.

"They did it," said Adam. "How did they finally manage it?"

"They're ineffable," said Pepper with exasperation. She slid down from the countertop and negotiated Mr. Crowley's elbow so she could get the pancake oil off the hob before it started smoking and they had to evacuate the building.

Honestly. Somebody had to be the responsible one in this family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've signed up to write something Disaster Dads adjacent for the GO Events Mystery AU, and if I'm organised enough the plan is to do a short sequel to this fic that goes with it and takes place about five years on. If you want to know when that happens come stalk me at  
> [tawnyontumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tawnyontumblr)
> 
> \- although there wont be any news until December.


End file.
